Oh ye fucking desk with your

stupid big, white screen

sucking me in like some

psychotic, alien laser beam,

and you ass faced old inbox,

thanks a lot for

ruining every fucking day -

I would be happier if

you weren’t in my way.

I hate you lamp and coffee

stained blotter,

I hate you pile of useless pens,

lunch detritus, and clutter.

I hate you itunes, who

keeps me calm when I should be irate -

is this my fate?

Is this boring goddamned mundanity my fate?

Oh blisteringly bad dim light

of the sun, under the electric globes

you are just about gone -

I weep for my filing, I weep

for the folders that keep piling up

and the negligible billable hours

which serve to discredit me

how I would edit thee

to fluff up my stuff ups

if I had no moral core.

No more! Vitamin pills and stagnant legs,

I am exploding in my head.

I think I am a body of post-it notes

and the coffee smell in my throat

- a bloated, ruinous, corporate whale

going stale like old food

for the company’s good.