Office Hours

On the rise
Of filtered light
Flowing into this cave;
On the fill
Of filtered water
Flowing into this cup,
I am here again
All this day—
Again, again, again,
Again. Heart chained
To chair, words to
Convention; a slave
To future.

Our Future?

On the fall
Of sober reality;
On the pull
Of drunken fatigue,
I am paroled
And wireless. Streaming
This dream
In mega
Super
High
Definition;
For a few hours,
The screen projects the
End of this dark
Tunnel.

I dream. We are.

Again, filtered light and
Water. Again, eyes open to
Nightmare of I. Again, wired in,
Connected by cable. Yet again
Enlisted by a company of tasks. Again?

If I speak their words enough,
Will we live together on mine?

-Cupcake

About C. Feallsanach

I am philosopher at heart. I am bursting with ideas and inquisitions. Reality exists in the blurred expanse betwixt the lines of black and white for me. I am far from traditional. Though, I fall far from the vocation of sage, I thirst for all edifying wisdom. My life's mission is to aid, support, and (when possible) facilitate the advancement, evolution, and development of humankind and civilization. I always welcome stimulating dialogue.
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