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Working Remotely
Remote works.
We're all floating particles, anyway.
Oh c'mon!
Let me live again!
How do we measure the distance
Between two hearts?
If no man is an island,
And every man is an island, then,
Where are all the women?
I'll go there, under the silken light,
Shifting passed the shadow dancers of time,
Scaling pudding-like blocks of emotions.
I'm talking cubes twice as high as your head.
Your head is not in a cloud.
Your head IS the cloud.
We're all working remotely,
Skidding and squirming around
Each other's feelings like
Over-polite mice.
Or blasting right into the hailstorm
With Mad Max mania.
Oh, the options.
Pick you poison.
Pick your President.
Nevermind, your vote doesn't count.
But I love you.
Copyright ©
Matt Caliri
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