Kevont Anderson Form Poem #5 October 15, 2012 ENG 125 Work Phone Speaking into a space where

stars are rare My voice breaks down as it collides with light. Hollywood is hardly good if they are Weeping tears laced with particles of strife. Running in an office of lies, dilute Mundane tasks like swivel chairs hurt my eyes. The funny thing is the spins in a cube, Snickering squares make Monday my despise. Placing my past desire in slums of smiles The debt was paid with higher interests piling, Defining success with a paradise child. I roll the pair of dice on Futures wing. Mother turns while Fate dials faith for a nation, Under pressure we seek occupation.