astroprojecton

Dishes jangle, clang. Her eyes peer up and down, up, down,
idle mind is the devil's play ground so
she swishes around, swirling around, giving table's counter's
catharsis.

Door pulled by the hands of the Almighty Dollar, she
lives to serve that customer,
it's a good day when they put trust in her
giving the order that
she pounds in aptly

"and would that be all?"
asking in hopes of a little synaptic sideswipe
a little more green for the corp
extra line on that receipt with more numerals
with the decimals

card swiped through, the credence ain't even
real now, it's electronic and mystical and too
theoretical. but reality has it that the food on
that tray is all the real they need and the green
that girl gets for her houred higher gets her the
fine things, the finer things, the good things and

there's a line now and there's a man wearing an
apron bussing tables who knows the secret to
a working man's life:

you're mind
don't have to be
where you're body is

and

you're heart don't have
to be where the
dollar is

cause in these here parts there's
the astroprojection of the human spirit,
where the undercurrent class are swaying their
soulminds as

god plays the tambourine.