Sleepy, sleepy,
canopy tree.
But still they must
climb to the sun.
The needles injected themselves into the blood walls & sucked all o’ our potential. They wanted it all, & they got it. ¿What could the whiteguards do? There’s no time to lay in your sweat pond; she has file cabinets to feed.
I gazed into the cabinet’s mouth a month ago & ’twas looking kinda cobwebby.
But all these audits, ¿don’t they steal more o’ our staplers than just easing the lungs & letting a li’l larceny linger?
Get back to me as soon as you can. Thanks.