I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Story Bone

I didn't get the hint that with all the slow drivers on the roads that nobody wanted to be at work, turn around, go home, crawl back into bed and try again tomorrow. With all the traffic deciding to slouch toward jobs, I clocked in a half-hour late. That was to be the high point of the day.

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