Dear tired toilers,
meekly dallying
toward the reward
of a weekend which
never seems to come—
it's safe to say mistakes
were made, Gregory's
math got a little messed
up, and that calendar
on your phone is bunk.
Truth is, there's no end
in sight to this week,
no place where all
labors cease, no private
retreats or untapped oases
left on the map. In short:
no rest until you're
dead—and even then,
it's looking questionable.
Lest you forget
from those endless
religion classes: the kingdom
of heaven is spread
so thin on the Earth that
no man can see it; heck,
even Eden was no paradise.
Eden was a test.
