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Cracked

There is a crack in his head
his head has a crack
a crack full of crackers
clogging his thinking with crumbs
crumbs falling out of his head
onto the floor, over the desks
and the chairs of his company
abundance of dirt
and egg shells…hip deep in egg shells and dirt.
They pull on their armor, navy wool gabardine
brushed clean in steel spinning booths;
they strap into the spinning booths daily
—furious turning as the brushes
clean and baste them in revision enough
for King Crumb to bind them in promises.
There is more dirt than reason,
more crackers than time,
more time than truth;
most are too stuffed to move
but the others…
the others have opted for sanity.