*Hours in Volumes*
Days shouldn’t feel this empty.
Sealing capsules without substance lowers already knocked off pedals of will —
halting locomotive chains that were
barely moving anyway.
I’m still expected to approve the dross and waste of a full 24 hour rotation,
and send it out as if completed, and as if ready to begin anew the following day.
How can I? How can one be satisfied with a malfunctioning vacuum of winnowed pieces
that cannot be out-placed?
A Day’s Quality has managed to evaporate once more,
so I must now settle for a quantitative mass-producing of
Hours in Volumes.
Deep-Sixed Ticks rise from a deserted grave
and I succumb to its strangle, until my body
but No —
I Will Not Rest.
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