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Click hereGrief is a factory of manufactured tears.
We cry in our hearts for dead soldiers,
we cry in our hearts for New Orleans,
and once again down in Mississippi
we hang our heads in collective shame.
But your grief, it cuts like a knife.
And while you weep hopeless tears
I know you are hanging your head.
Sweet girl, you have lost your man.
And now that he is gone
we find the quota for tears
has been lifted and
we are all working overtime.
The production lines
have reached peak capacity,
but this assembled sadness
keeps on rolling down the line
in the factory of manufactured tears.
Sometimes you make the words work for a living. Squeeze from them every definition. Keep it up before those suckers unionize.
M2394. Your style doesn't always work or I don't
get it, but this I get and its good. sandspike
than surface intent here. Lot to think about. I like that about your poetry, Steve, always more than meets the eye.