You just get it done.

I used to stare up at the stars
outside of E-Level dormitories
and wonder what really was the meaning
of
life.

You just get it done.

You fumble for "snooze" on your tiny mobile companion
and let the blood rush to your ankles
and hazily find your way
upstairs.

You just get it done.

After the shower routine
its dressing and then
blindly feeling along the top shelf for
some sort of
sustenance.

Then you drop your box on wheels
into the ocean of the other wheeled boxes
and you feel the bravado of machinery beneath you and
claim your inch of asphalt greedily
among the other
mobile animals.

Then after several outbursts
you arrive at the office
and settle in for a full
eight.

You just get it done.

Then you stand and bid farewell
and leave to go
to the next
one.

You dance like a monkey,
and smile and suggest,
and clear and serve,
and fake it till you make it.
All the while just watching
as they eat awkwardly on
a very first
date.

You just get it done.

Then you deposit your blood money
at the teller machine around the corner
and trace your footsteps back
home.
Where you sit down and study extraneous subjects or
узнать некоторые дополнительные русский язык
until your body is dry
and sleep storms the gates.

Then you lie down alone
for the 376th time in a row
and drift absently into
darkness.

You just get it done.

Shoulder the weight
and
walk.