comes down to
when your eyes are so sensative
as an indoor office jockey
riding on that corporate nag
that you see halos around the lights
and people look crisp and thus holy
even the desk origami made by human hands
looks strangely organic and dirty
hey -- it doesn't speak English
or tick stately with the clock
or laugh on time
it doesn't lean slightly forward
like the gray steel towers
all right angles and perfection when
everything comes down to Friday
with your spine the exact shape
I mean EXACT shape of your office chair
and your hands are blue and kinda lacy
like you could see through them in all their glory
and then they rise if you hold a pencil
it looks real like the official steel
your hands feel like the origami, all spicked and earthy
then they're ticking
like the cold clock'd time that shows you
everything comes down to Friday
like a great sporting event
where the players and spectators all hold their breath
for the running split second
and some how if thus enlightenment ensued --
or even eggs were fried with that potencial
we'd be famous not in the future, Jackson, but right now
and if I just keep saving myself
and my money
I won't be waiting with bated breath
for the exact moment when
everything came down past Friday
