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To the One Job I Ever Quit

“Fuck sleep.”
I said, as I poured another dram.
At 7 am I’ll roll onto my feet,
stumbling for awareness
hands feeling for my glasses
that won’t clear the sting–
of morning.
Tomorrow, I sip,
I am professional antagonist.
I harass, annoy, even frighten.
No, I am not a cop,
I am a marketer.
And I hate me too.

Farewell, midnight’s morals.
Farewell, dignity.
I am a broken man,
And work is all I need.

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