Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Surreal - The Loss of a Job.

It came with no gifts
The door remains unknocked
As time writes out its lists
It barely gets a mention
With arms not offended
Or raised in welcome
It's feet stepped onto carpet
And barely raised a whisper
It changed everything
And left me unchanged.

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How do I lose myself?

I am not easily misplaced Or forgotten, Arriving as I do Before even the curtains draw And that first morning jug boils, Bleary, yes Grudgin...