The time goes by without any record;
the day is not worth putting into words.
The doodle on my page forms a border
where in it's place I should be making news.
The thing I must produce I cannot force
and out my window is a clear blue sky.
And as I gaze outside into the sky
the clouds begin to break a world record
for swirling aesthetically with great force.
I put my pen away: abandon words:
and leave the office to tell friends the news.
I stop right on the edge of works border.
Beyond I see green fields with no border,
so while the clouds go whirling through the sky
I take a step and make the front page news
as the first goon ever in all record
to leave their job when to express in words
their unfulfillment had taken their force.
I push against the ground with mighty force
and then push off, fly over the border.
With me I take every kindness in words
that has ever reacted in my sky
in bursts of fireworks: public record:
and nothing in this world becomes old news.
By now my old colleagues have heard the news;
they whisper all day long about the force,
like breaking a collaborative record.
They each in turn look out at the border
and me; as free as birds are in the sky.
When all they have are their elaborate words.
But I begin to sink; I've lost my words;
my brain struggles to comprehend this news
as I begin to fall out of the sky
with an incredible amount of force
and just as I had jumped the old border
my desk remains the same, and my record.
So now I know that I cannot force words
and news will never border on my dream.
The sky holds the only record of time.
This was another product of Laura's end words and Maria's filler words.