routine, on the train
to work, to work, to work
robotic, we clamor
stumbling along the stairs
hands gripping a briefcase
we all have the same briefcase
a uniform, well pressed and polished
routine, in a line
at work, at work, at work
robotic, in a line
we find ourselves in cubicles
small boxes in rows
we all have the same small box
an uniform, very economical and ordinary
routine, in a shift
in work, in work, in work
robotic, we are sedated
pulling it from our briefcases
the haze covers our faces and forms a smile
we all have the same smile
an uniform, well groomed and worn
routine, this life
from work, from work, from work
robotic, we assemble in lines
a life created within small boxes
we all have lives defined by boxes
an uniform, this sedation
we all carry in our briefcases
Poetic Trials 