I hear you, lovely bureaucrat
in plainest grays and browns
screeching at the moon
and hard work for fear you
will be seen undoing and
unknowing. This is a dangerous time
for the heavenly to know the
process of entry into heaven.
Do not be afraid, you will rise
up into the glassed in vestibule
with a view of all the sad
people swatched in colorful garb
searching for the doorknob
to turn their way into the busy
rigamarole of the making
who we are at our best.
Money means only what it means
no more or less and this
is not freedom or a prison —
only clothes that offer no information
but the certainty that you are dressed.
Do the job for the joy of doing,
nothing else will purchase the ticket
or reveal your value half as well.
Oh lovely bureaucrat, yes
you are hated, and worst of all
for all your best lines, long and
in the giving so sweetly unforgiving.