Abhorrent
rhythms of pop songs
flutter over the surface of dawn,
screaming banalities engineered
to make you tear up | sit tired,
clock in, hands barren,
clay-fired glossed up for the big game
the night before you:
settle down kettle-brown coffee pour
on the guest table all the way down
through the guest door,
but still,
let me guess,
you want more?
Clock out,
the report's due at midnight,
write it in slanted germanic misery.
You did well;
have a drink on me.
And don't you dare let the mind wander
and write another one, more secret:
scrawled in a purple diary
to expose debauchery delinquent.
Don't you ever wonder;
don't you speak the unspeakable.
Keep quiet with the blunder;
keep thinking the unthinkable.
@d-pend