the lights

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

7 thoughts on “the lights

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