Alive, for an hour.

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Alive, for an hour. the sun warms the bones,of the lunchtime worker drones. our single hour of escape,from the beasts with their namesetched on frosted window panes. those beasts,who appear against four digits in our online accounts.the reason we g...

Alive, for an hour.

the sun warms the bones,
of the lunchtime worker drones.
our single hour of escape,
from the beasts with their names
etched on frosted window panes.

those beasts,
who appear against
four digits in our online accounts.
the reason we go back.
the reason we ever went.
but for one hour we are free.
reminded of ourselves.
not drones or slaves.
the great homo sapiens,
a beast in itself.
a beast of anarchy,
capable of rising again.

but we just sit and eat on the grass
like grazing beef cattle,
recharging our broken souls
in the first sun of spring.
and now, at five to two,
the giant magnet begins to pull
at the copper in our pockets,
at the iron in our blood.
we have no choice, us fools.
we must stop living, in order to live.


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