revolting slave

there's a certain brainwave
established when the slave mode
takes hold. a slow drowning or heated
pot  boils /or not at all. unused kinetics
scramble for the doorway just in time you safely
kick them back inside.
it's fun to go exploring but tomorrow
you'll regret it in decreased production
and slow moving returns. you hope the boss
doesn't notice. time used to dribble, the second
hand's tortuous slow march held you from
the life you thought you led, outside flourescent haze
but like the equinox when  poles switch, eddies
whirl unpredictably around you, north and south
curl in on each other, puppies asleep. the worms move
in different directions -what was scrambled
cannot be re-egged. the energy it takes to work
when work is no longer completely neccesary
your children, my children are grown. why do i work
this way? i must, in some perverted way, love it.
the way i tick  minutes in cut legs and tweezer pull,
hand pumping the vacuum. fourteen times fourteen
is a gross. or more if i'm wrong. no wonder my shoulder
feels like it's on fire and my neck wants to tumble
to the side with the cracking sound of a tree dislodged
from a cliffiside. oh my wreckless youth, why did i lock you away
for a dollar and a half? i can no longer fulfill half
the anthems i sang in my teens. if you had a gun, i'd say
shoot me before i get here, but
too late, too late.leave me now
i'm tryin to sleep . gotta go
in the monring
again.