A work
Is not work
If it changes not a thing
A thrown brick
Through high window
Forces workers to appear
I wrote
A poem
A second ago
Then
The computer froze
This is
A sign
To abandon
The boat
For these words
That are plastered
Bent, saved, and unmastered,
In far off hard drives
Are not concrete
Or set in stone
And make no reach
Into the human psyche,
Truly,
They speak,
Of nothing
Nor are the words
Pasted in books
Handed out to hands
By parents with plans
I forget myself
I lose myself
But then am reminded
As I step
Day in and day out
That I am
Farther and Farther away
From the old way
Oh the dismay
An expensive bitter play
An unhappy ending
To the start of a day