running out of the capacity for running out of time

you call me dysfunctional
i smile and say, "of course!"
i'm paid to function
in admittedly
the most negligible way
but still
you will try to dry me
of my empty time
my quiet time
my vision
40 hours at a time
i spend
my mentor's time
describing these machines
describing this
is happening
one break-down
at a time

as time destroys me
in its spare time
angry years of love
and lacking
or education
or experience
and least of all
in spite of anger

spitting time
for the survival
of the time machines
of the damned

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