Ongoing sporadic journal of the overeducated, and underemployed. The title derived from Coupland’s description of cubicle land; the corporate ghetto. Random photos and thoughts. Left the ghetto, never happier. This still a work in progress

19 August 2022

 


Fragment from Miami

I sing my song into a clear tropical night.

I’ll sleep the balcony

My friend lies asleep atop the sheets dreaming of cover shoots

Potions swirl through my blood and brain

My song comes back pure

And clean

This city loves me


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