What I Jot Down at Work Instead of Actually Working

Working grave has allowed me to grow an intense amount of boredom, here is the product of that boredom: a few silly poems and an even sillier love note from which I’ve scrawled onto receipt paper. Enjoy.

Oh, and I do currently work at a gym, so lots of workout commentary on this one. I know.

Running running running

Going nowhere

Sweating sweating sweating

With no fear

Are we not hamsters on a wheel?

Our robots tell us when to kneel

Cover our ears, so we don’t have to hear voices

Hover over peers, rejecting their weight choices

Running running running

Going nowhere

Sweating sweating sweating

With no fear

Have we not earned a prize at the end?

Blasting off as the learned lies kick in

Look away, but not at the pulsing bulking

No eye contact, for that would be too awkward

Instead compare to your own body posture

Running running running

Going nowhere

Sweating sweating sweating

With no fear

Why do we not fear envy?

Dining on hot meals, yet empty

It’s just a fad, no one will realize

No need to workout – are we in love with ourselves or just paranoid?

Contrary to conformity, perhaps it does feel good – why did it come to this? Is being ordinary no less a sanctuary …

Running running running 

Going nowhere

Sweating sweating sweating

With no fear

Are we not hamsters on a wheel?

Everyone is spinning, I cannot stop it

The drums are winning, to them I lift

Running in place running against myself running toward perfection 

Sweating a base sweating all over sweating pouring destination

Going nowhere with no fear or no fear of going nowhere – it wasn’t clear

That was a long one! Don’t worry, the rest are much shorter.

Where is the time that’s in a blink of an eye?

All I see is a slow churning crawl to freedom

Yes, I’m at work not working, but of this am I not deserving?

Thine legs are no longer working, yes, they’re hurting courting the flooring like a bong that just got topped off

Will they freak if I saw those legs off – from bottom to top like Mac when he overreacted and dismantled his man handling able ——————— 40 more minutes, ’till then it’s death by ankle breaking and if it weren’t for the Sun I’d at least be patiently waiting for the ceiling to cave in, then I could go home after the ambulance sirens warned of the incoming 

So that went nowhere real fast!

Blackbird barking in the parking lot

Squawking like a Hawking needing a coffee

Unprepared and perplexed – it can’t scare the cats, they’re objects

But they can damage the animal, an avalanche of blood and cars she attracts other birds – they’re cannibals

Eating each other no worries about feathers or whether they even digest properly

Wishing the Sun wasn’t mentioning my name – I’m wincing at the pinching of its tickling display

Watching a dumbass bird be perturbed at a Ford in the parking lot of my work

Ooh, yeah, I like to rhyme even if it’s nonsense!

I may be the ugliest guy whoever lived

But when she looks at me from the car waiting for me to leave the gym

My goofy ass smiles

I just smile


She grins back – would you look at that? Not too long, though, that’s my sweet baby girl, son. You look at her again you get the guns

Nah, I ain’t dumb

She’s here for me, I’m in the sun

Awwwww, that was terrible!

To my dearest Sarah,

      It has been a fortnight since we’ve last reconvened upon the town grotto, nevertheless my heart continues to ache with a terrible ember whence warms my heart just enough so that it may never shiver again. I do not yet know when the captain will relieve me, sending me home to mother and father, and to you, as I have indeed bagged many savages which only extrapolates my plight. Soon I hope to give you child, but before our destinies I must avenge my countrymen.

      My Sarah, if I’d known that we’d only achieve two wondrous nights together before the draft, I would have requested to have your hand in marriage then and there where I last saw you. I don’t even remember where we were, I can only envision those densely lit green eyes shining against the backdrop of the sun, under the willow tree – was that where we were? It seems like just the place.

                Love – indefinitely,

                         Tristan Drue

                           Forever yours.

Post Script

        I do wonder how you’ve been getting along without my company. Is your family well? I’ve sent a box of wheat and one filled with musical crickets to your door along with this letter. Enjoy them as I may have, but do not mix the two. I am told of a magical hypnotism and accelerated growth that may take hold if the two are joined. Separately, they are practical in use as I’m sure you’ve surmised. See you soon, Ms. Walker.

Love ya, babe. In this life and the next.


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