Threadbare images dressed in dimestore suits
Barely contain the self-constructed realities
Of naked people gathering with little more in mind
Than greed, promotion and clandestine rendezvous
Soft handshakes carry no more substance than a sail on a windless day
And harmless flirtations entertain corrupt fantasies
In the dark vaults of depraved secrecy
Daydreams, plans and phantom conversations
Drift overhead as mindless words swirl
Like sand being sculpted by uninspired breezes
Gorging on some mother-less calves supreme,
Semi-pink, roasted contribution
Laid to rest on beds of depleted greens
Pondering superficially our indomitable frames
Wordless vows seal compromised covenants
To never grace these doors again
Only to make plans to return and listen
To the squeaking air being released
From some balloonish ego. . .
At the next Business Luncheon
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