Good for Nothings

[brynmawr1]

The computer has stolen my hands again
and the clock just smoked my last cigarette,
these are tough times for us all
so we lean forward and practice our spitting:   These lines are amazing, metaphors so clear.
boredom is illegal like the river at our backs
and none of us have a knack for squealing.

Though the blind can read our banknotes,
changing the time with wound up whistles,      love the alliteration.
it’s all invention, even the ending,
swallowed down into a hollow beginning,
dancing in the shoals on the backs of turtles.

As you know, I am new at this.  I like the rhythm and imagery of the rest of the poem, but I have to admit I'm not sure what you are trying to say.  Maybe that's the point!
Thanks.