“MORE” 07 July 03

At morning Work comes
And sits on the end of the bed
It asks me silently
Without me
What will you do until death?

The loneliness of leisure
The punishment of time
You could fill the void
With the chores, one more time

Follow the lives of others
On small glass screens
Fill the need for contact
With yellowed pornography

There’s so many things to do
And too much time
It slips through digits daily
None of us can halt the slide

We find solace in fucking
We hope for something more
More than work and cooking
Whatever it is,

We always want more.

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