Perspective
Daniel had worked for the music publisher
Ever since he could remember
Feeling his achievement as a deep fissure
Yawning before him, he leaned into it like December
Into January. Time for the new. And up he stood.
Nodded to his coworkers. And left the desks.
Grinned at the security guards. Broke from the contracts for
Good. The liberty of it was astounding. At Kate Bush's behest:
Rolling over in the big sky over the empty plodding
Avalanche of his career, he walked into an Irish pub
Validating the man in front of the jukebox's choice by nodding
In rhythm and sitting at the bar he asked. "Wassup?"
Taking no time to address the barkeep and order his usual stout;
"Yo! Where's Harold?, Daniel asked. The keep nodded at a sleeping man: "Just stepped out."
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