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Christopher Besinger
The future is forced labor
Not noble work or even heroically Awful just boring, the future of work Is boring All the eyes are bored Bored into the soft heads for rows upon rows Growing softer and sweeter and more tender And rotten and oozing and Attracting evilly buzzing flies That alight on the delicate heads To suckle the sweet nectar And the work is still fucking boring The poems I write while No one is listening Never need to be read They have already served a purpose |