hours to work for money--power in a vacuum, disassociative comfort: 'enough' being a savage game of russian roulette--I'm just a symbol for a lost meaning and everything will do just fine until it won't, to which I scramble for refuge from the inevitable dispair--refuge in lips and in eyes and when betrayed, in bank account balances and when realized to be insationable i'll play accordion and cry out in key until there is no reason to reason, let alone be anything.