tasks drop in open barrels
labor's fruit
ripened and readied,
and checkmarked,
weighed for content,
inspected for form,
and dismissed
into waiting assembly lines
of time passed,
of neglected memory,
that no longer needed,
yet also satisfied.
ultimately, the hunger stops for nothing,
so this days' sating
is relegated to oblivion,
recycled,
and tomorrow's need thrums
loud and proud
as ever.
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