time

blocks, they build
cubist machines like houses and sidewalks:
Geometry-invoking dreams
cities built of circles rectangles triangles.
angular momentum moves these weighty blocks; i dance in blocks too.
this rectangular bus ride followed by
a triangle time of tasks in the city;
another rectangle ride and i plunge into the vast square
--so many office hours.
you know for every eight hours of work are sixteen you don't,
but the spaces between do not loom so much. cities too:
more space downtown than buildings--but what we see are blocks.

scraps, i find them
everywhere writing upon their destitute backs
going sideways against the printed words: i try
writing small--concentrate my concentration.
stealing rough-edged bits of paper to record rough-edged scraps of thought,
so i steal from margins the time i have for writing: rip it
from the lower half backside of discarded legal documents.
i try to hide my writing:
hand-covering words to mask my slipping script,
i leave office in the evenings with pockets full of words
sloppily hiding the scraps of time i have stolen from their pay.
it is wrong of me but i am scavenger;
i build my civilization from your wasted scraps.




10/29/08
8/25/08 - takes about an hour to bus from city to office or back; i always felt a smear of guilt about getting paid to sit down watching city streets slip by.