The World Is Your Motel

I sit with my bouquet plucking petals torturously

I have no mercy

I set the bar real high then come up just shy

Then pound my desk, with the utmost frustration

And so it runs! Just enough! It's fine! I keep a good attitude!

But I'll never be Elvis I guess. Just one big, moist bag of garbage

Missed the low hum that connects things

A dumpy woman in a track suit

It's all the same to me, man

I can!: Send mail, cook food

And complete other simple tasks, if required

My resumé, while less than impressive, is consistent

I'm at the mercy of machines

Out of context, that could sound like a real problem

But it's only in pictures