52

A spineless book,

A magician’s manuscript.

Spread out like a blanket descending on a hill,

Living in a fantasy,

Not giving up on the dream.

52 papers stacked on your desk means a long-day’s work ahead,

And your boss tells you that he wants them done by tomorrow’s end.

Four suits like seasons.

52 reasons,

To wake up every morning,

And realize you weren’t made to be concealed away in a box,

But to be free.

To change form for everyone to perceive

You differently.

A Jack of all trades.

Measurable for structure,

For an architect to build you up,

To be knocked down by hot air coming out of someone else’s mouth.