Joints sparked nostalgic
by tragedies personal & professional,
My bones keep cracking
with the weight of the words
"the dignity of work".
Dignity,
as I experience it,
is a rectangular number,
in a rectangular box,
on a rectangular piece of paper
waiting in the rectangular mouth of an envelope.
When I hear those words about
work and dignity
I feel my joints like wet gunpowder
My bones detached with edges perforated.
Under this sort of dignity
life becomes a series of
If; then
statements.
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