Men at Work

Men at Work
We walk through these
Musical moods, holding the notes
Of everyman’s hopes

Slivers of sunshine
Divide our shadows
Into queuing quavers

Her leavened voice to our side
Slithers and slides
Through the heavy air

Naked is our core
A collection of sparks
Lit by glowing music motes

Inevitably, our heart strings
Are rooted in this land of
Enlightened enthusiasm

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