We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold. - Wallace Stevens

12997889 ll lllll lll ll l llllllll

28 nominations

Once again: same old, same old. Ants scuttling off to work for a queen they never see who is omni-present, yet nowhere. And for what? I get to work. My 1x1 meter cubicle becomes an egg. At night I hatch and return home just to die in front of the T.V. Survivor sucks. And as I incubate in the cubicle of sorrow, while the glare of the flourescent lights dry out my eyes and the airconditioning system transports millions of unseen germs throughout the building, I realise: I am just a fucking barcoded number.

© gummo


You have to be a registered user to be
able to post comments to poetry.

Register Today!

If you already have an account, log in to post a comment.

Please be patient while we go looking for comments...