Get a Job (Ii)

This feels to be the Last Frontier Of the Great Urban Conquest. I remain, day by excruciating day, Steadily engaged in my paralysis. Should I walk the streets with flying papers? Humming the optimistic tune of the gravedigger? City lights and morbid nights, Keep your cheer in rugged fabric Tied to uncommon reed, slung over the shoulder. Bear down on this blind, blazing city Like the death-hungry Bobcat, Eyes gleaming yellow on the mount, Distant and immersed. Patient and alert. Find thee a job. Though these boots have no straps Pull push and burn That faith-light on And on and on.