A.M. comes with the sun and seas of people
Corporate drones march to the hive
In plain, baby-blue shirts and over-sized asses
Heads hung low, briefcases in hand
Unhappiness has become the norm
Plastic smiles and forced laughter coat
A cancer too many
As the machine chug-a-chugs away.
Premature balding on men
Fucked up twisted, junky-chunky knees on women
Stilettos to a painful tomorrow
And a clicking wingtip shoe drives me mad.
Steady, even-paced fury walking
Burning deep drive into souls of push-pin dolls
That some crazed masterful puppet master plays with
In his darkened mahogany offices
Of devils personified.
Money and lucrative personal losses
Breed unspoken discontent and existential yearnings
To know why and what we do
Fro 9-5’s-a-many
And working towards the weekend loses meaning
As we bleed, as our weeks bleed, as our lives bleed
Into the corporate fickle fabric of a never tomorrow.
My fear pushes me forward
As the crowd’s discontented gruntings begin to build
A stop in the flow of ‘progress’
For needless questions
A waste of time
Keep moving,
Keep moving
Just.
Keep.
Moving.
I take a sidelong glance from above my cubicle walls
To observe the madness of the busy bee comrades
And slink back into the recesses of my memory for sustenance.
I can do no more than hide
And wait for the torrential downward blades of skeleton sickles
To cease their slicing
And my soul will arise once the corporate ghosts have perished
In their rat race rave towards nothingness
And I will have survived by an inch.
But that inch will grow.
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