There are many professions. They all are worthwhile.
From the cleaning of streets to the making of laws,
Every being alive who does some kind of work
Is a Quantum Mechanic whose pride is a perk.
Smashing thoughtforms together creates the first cause.
No one else in the universe fits the profile.
To the fine Magic Realist, the quanta form words.
When collided, verboseness brakes down into parts.
The particulate pieces, syllabic in form,
Break down further to letters. An ample brain storm
Monitored lovingly and shared with other hearts
Is the will of expression and all that it girds.
Everyone has this job title. No one’s exempt.
We may do something also so that we may live.
But we’re all hooked on particles strung end to end
And read left to right leisurely. They’re a godsend
To unsung thought colliders least provocative
In revealing new meaning or unseen contempt.