eight to five

frames those hours

that are barbed-wire fences

that enclose and bind.

weeds cover and invade

once fertile corners of our minds.

and —

for sale signs

hang around necks

we are corporate whores

sold to mediocre bidders

who are nothing more than

rusted out cars dressed in glitter.

but —

freedom’s flame

burns even when

our false reality

casts its pall

we must let loose our souls

and let faith’s fire burn tall.