Don’t trust poetic types who falsify pulse as weakness.

Why situate dance with heartbeats? 

Investigate when the cracked sidewalk hosts a pulse on its ledge.

Toenails singing like tap-plates and the pain is there to remind them of death. 

Skip that balance to an ordinary sandwich shop

Where extraordinary descriptions of soul splendor are standard for wage earners on lunch break.

Think:

A whale bragging about swimming to an ant drowning in toilet water.

Consciousness functions without purpose during slumber. 

I often dream like a web-app streaming only commercials. 

Lunch hour ends and everyone is almost home,

But it’s the work hour where a minute feels like an eternity

And wage earners stare past the forest of foreheads to the automatic double doors that refuse to open for an elderly woman pushing a cart full of groceries weighing more than her and they signal to her telepathically,

“We’re all voiceless, helpless and trapped under bright lights.”