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bad music
Paul Lojeski


in the factory, broke, a river 
of walking sweat, gripping hard 
 
the heavy, hot grinder in my burnt
hands, hours of bang and sparks 
 
flying to smooth a thousand welds, 
face blistered, choking on filthy air.
 
the noise blasting the great hall, no
symphony I ever want to hear again.
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