Twenty Four By Seven, Whatever

It is still – a unity unto itself, each day
   this air inhaled
Climbing higher still our bodies invigorated by

        New longing, assumptions assuming new miracles
   To be broken by the start of morning.
   Of bells fresh but not calling.

It was a fight nobody could win.
   Like all business, it comes down to two men –
                              testing themselves
(not before the walls but within).

Dealers, brokers – a trust we had in them.
   All share the spoils – two wives want dresses.
Finally enters the prize: an ice sculpture of the winner –
                                                "it’s his birthday!"
   That marked the spending for personal use,
A fee for banking,
                                       the nod to accounting…..

Sulphur inhaled in every street
               while people fall, trying to eat it
Only to be asphyxiated by a ‘night air’.
   Others, leave.
Their routine begins and ends at Temple.
   Only the lovers stay,

these two men as lovers kiss and share the profits.

   Having made their numbers –

     the clock strikes twelve to begin again.

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