Slouched in a uniform chair,
I lean my head against moving boxes
People search through for cheap treasure,
Throwing papers about and turning heads in serious concern for now and next and now,
all in hurried succession,
linear, always linear.
A symphony of racket bounces around walls of grey
And plastic coats aesthetic in
The name of
Efficiency and Fitting In
Jeans that don't even fit.
Swipes and beeps and sloppy cleavage
Ask me if I'd like to donate to the cause of
How The Lord Hath Done Us Wrong,
And militant MEs shake their heads in disapproval, missing the, missing the
Ugly all around while
kneels amidst tears in a church far away,
Letting beauty transcend all its woes.