Overtime Poem by mike ruthenbeck

i wake, and i work,

and i sleep,

to wake again to work,

to sleep a dreamless,

cold innoculation.

And when i wake, I

wish i'd dreamt

of beauty and peace;

smooth kisses and gentle breeze

and waves slipping past my

ankles as the sea would sigh

in the moonlight.

but instead I

dream of work, as though

I were awake, and so

I loose track of the day, of

the month, of the hour;

for the trivial, imperceptible

change of working through

my dreams is so utterly

convincing, truthful and plain,

and realistic it must alter

too accord my own memory,

....As a day I slept and woke

and worked yet never was.