the welding casts aurora borealis on the warehouse ceiling
the men shuffle about like the walking dead
it’s never quiet
as the host of lights dance across the ceiling
and clang of metal and saws and arcs of electricity
and they walk with stiff legs and worn out souls
worn out soles
worn out
the shambling host of zombie workers
and you have to be careful where you look
never knowing when the welders are about to send current through the metal a few feet away from your face
and it lights the ceiling with green and yellow and blue
maybe the lights and the heat make these men into undead creatures
maybe selling their soul for income did
i don’t know
but i can’t stop staring at the lights
and my feet feel heavy
shoulders are slumped
my soul has been worn out
my soles feel worn out
and the lights seem so hypnotic
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
Things like this get my heart. That people spend days like this, feeling like this. Makes me somber
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it was overdramatized to a point. it was just what i saw from the scaffolding way up high.
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It’s the vision of alchemy! You’re there! Keep going! Please don’t let me be the only one…
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This poem is hypnotic.
I love this. I like the souls-soles interchange.
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it was pretty cascading off the ceiling. i feel more will come from the place
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It was entrancing; the imagery.
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thank you.
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