Labor Market

The disheveled men come from the cliffs of obscure labors to release the last of their leftovers into the dark waters of the bed into dreams full of fairies into dreams full of honey into dreams of rivers of milk. The breath of the decrepit day the breath of fate’s open mouth the breath of the careless winds that come over the gutters of the city wipe away the mood of the dreams. The disheveled men set foot in the street once more it is crossed cliff after cliff after cliff...