Vacations for Orphaned Dock Workers

We are each forced to write a song
For those above, below, and beside us

We tamper with the walking line
So as not to disturb the dichotomy

Of stolen teeth in the whistled speech
Of matrimony of tolerant ashes

Sober for unclung rationale
But we will cling, still clinging

And cling to the line we wait in
Songs for those above, below, and beside us

Hollow praises for carriage minivans
And sad entry to the end of this line