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Being a Monkey in a Cave

Work is fine if I’m admired. Tell me I’m superb.
But really, I plop deeply down,
tan military
tank in car-
ribean
wa-
ter.
And when
there, I can
only keep digging
deeper. It gets darker. I hate
work and the bright realization of green worthlessness.
Sickly. It gets heavier. I hate
being a monkey
in a cave.
And when
wa-
ter,
turquoise-
red covers
my military
tank sinks, plopping me in casket.
Work is fine if I’m admired. Tell me I’m superb.

 

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This entry was posted on June 2, 2011, 8:22 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

  1. #1 by claudia on June 3, 2011 - 3:46 am

    love the
    tank in car-
    ribean
    wa-
    ter…
    at least we can be superb and have some fun in our day jobs…right..?

    Reply

    • #2 by Carl on June 3, 2011 - 6:26 am

      Thank you, Claudia. Yes, you are right, even if we are dreaming for fun. 🙂

      Reply

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