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Sofia Ageyeva Nov 2019
One day
     Or one night
You wake up in the middle of your life...
      and say...
      What’s wrong?
         Why are you crying?
            What are you missing?
Do you want to go back to sleep?

            No!

                 I want to live more!
                 I want to Love more!
                 I want to cry more...
                 I want to hug more...

Just Hug...
            and hug... and more...

Just for one day...
            or one night..
I want to stay awake...
           I want to be alive...

———•———
PS. ... but it’s  f**g  2 am...
...OK... but stay awake during the day... even when you go back to work in a cubicle...
               Do I have to? Yes...
Joseph Rice Sep 2019
My Office

Veneer and gear cogs orbit my sky eyed bored writ
Face, fuzzy bottom trace rings masculine tell bells ‘cuz
I’m lazy, not hazy on congeniality or veneer reality.

This cube main lines fake hued bane mines and vain finds
Purchase on surface of brown turf dust or brick fur guts.
Veneer reality.
Bardo Aug 2019
O! I went to the loo to do a number
    two
Only one cubicle was vacant, the rest
    they were all taken
"Looks like a full house today" I
     thought to myself
Man! I was bustin' to go
As I sat there on my throne in my
    cockpit all alone
There came this funny rumbling
    sound from down below
And then, this fearsome volley.... a  
    fantastic farting
And then, a great release
As finally I dropped my bombs with
    studious aplomb
O! what a relief !

"Man! ", I said to myself, " I must
      lay off that Aloe Vera juice
That stuff it goes right through you "
But then, something strange, from the
    cubicle right next to me
Came this other big thunderous ****
    explosion
A big fat blubbery balloony one
It sounded like a tuba gone wrong
And then! And then, another one! this
    one further down the line
This time a big bubble and squeaky
    one
And then! yet another! a funny little
    flute-ey one
Like it just squirreled out in the nick
    of  time
And then finally, another!!! a big Big
    Bellow like from some wonky
        trumpet
A real rasper, he must have thought he
    was doin' the solo
Man! It was so funny, one right after
    the other, you had to laugh
It was.... well, it was Gas !!!
Lucky no one struck a match
Or else it might have been... yea!
    Jumpin' Jack Flash !!!

It was like listening to a whole scale of
    *** notes
Such a strange symphony, these
    wondrous excursions in Sound
For a moment there, it reminded me a
     bit of Beethoven,
It was no celestial choir that's for sure
It was something altogether more dire,
Like something you'd hear in a
    farmyard byre
The animals all gathered at the trough
It was like all the bottoms were
    conversing with one another,
        having a chat
Plotting a rebellion even, an uprising,
    a coup d'etat
Against that other much more
    celebrated Opening
That much vaunted Hole in the Face,
    the Mouth!
That puffed up preening Prima Donna
    with his preposterous outpourings
His Monstrous, pompous inflated Self-
   importance
Sitting up there stuffing himself and
    forever spouting nonsense
"Sure, we do all the work down here",
  the Bottoms were saying, " and we
    talk a lot more sense as well"
They posed the question "Can a Bottom speak more Truth than a
    Mouth ?"
These defiant derrieres, these proud
    posteriors
With their proud exultations
Sticking a firm ******* up at that so-called world of respectability up
     there
That world of petrified good manners
Suffocating! Oppressing! with its
    stifling mores and traditions
Yea!....for sure, the rebel Masses, they
    were just a bunch of Bad *****.

O! the air it was blue just like Pepe Le
    Pew
I could have sworn I seen a big blue
    gaseous cloud ascending
Heading up toward the ceiling
Like a great Cloud of Unknowing
    except with a bit more foreboding
Reminded me of William Wordsworth
    & his lonely cloud a-wandering
But then I thought, did Wordsworth,
    Shelley or Keats ever write
An Ode to His **** ?
Was it too dark a side to show, too
    dark a place to go
The Dark Side of the Back Side
The Dark Side... of the Moon.

Pepe! Pepe Le Pew, that old Don Juan,
    Casanova of the old cartoons
It was then, my Love, it was then I
    thought of you
I smiled and said to myself"I know
    what I'll do
I'll blow out another sweet blue
    raspberry one just for you....
Oh yea!....that one was lovely, that one
    was true
I think that one had your name
    written on it
O!  I do".

And now as Pepe might say " Adieu! adieu!.....Sweet, sweet Adieu! ".

                       Ende
This is really lowering the tone. 'Bout time I wrote a real stinker, this one stonks to high heavens, it probably won't go into the stratosphere but it'll certainly go into the Ozone layer By the way the "Moon' bit, to moon someone as a verb means to show your bottom to them. Also Apologies to Beethoven, man was a genius apparently.  - By the way, Does my *** look big in this???
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
I did the company mail again today
it was all the same as yesterday
everybody doesn't want to die again
they just want to waste more time again
why do you live
to open more mail?
to send more out?
your dollars are never enough
but you keep trying to make them
why do you try at love
when it makes your tear ducts sore?

I did the company mail again
I guess I didn't use the right stamps
'cause I'm still so ******* sick
and it was all the same as yesterday
everybody doesn't want to die again
and everybody is still dead
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
if you sit upright
type well
stare at a screen
wear the right clothes
they'll call you a fashion plate
the old men
you'll get a good job
hell, maybe they will marry you

not me
I slouch
stare out the window
make up stories about the bluebird

At my review they tell me I can do much better

why does that matter when my heart is breaking into a million pieces?

there is the bluebird again

when will he leave me to my work?
Maegan deme Sep 2018
Isolation within my mind,
Stuck in my kell, gasping at the heat
Working till death to finish my design,
Running late, borderlines to meet.
A hero of management,
An Hr call left at the tone.
Stuck in my cubicle fortress.
The place I'm forced to call home.
I don't wanna be stuck in the loop of the cubicle slaughterhouses.
Jack L Martin Aug 2018
Swaggering daggers swaddling swatches
Winning spinning machine-like linnens
Having stabbing grabbing suits
Never ever silver-tounged seluths
On a journey? go to Deluth
Stop at Denny's, sit in a booth
Order a super bird, hot and delicious
Into my belly, full and malicious
Leave in a hurry, stand up then scurry
Back to the car but don't go far
Light up a spliff and head for the cliff
Jump just in time, land on a dime
Goodbye to my auto, is my new motto
Can't get back home, at least till tomorrow
Ira Desmond Nov 2017
As the day
slumps on

and the afternoon
sun

is at last
harpooned

and reeled
toward

the horizon,
I,

sitting in my cubicle,
feel

my neck begin
to

list windward,
like

a sinking
sailboat,

its sheets
torn,

naked mast
shuddering,

its heedless final heading
being

that white fog
bank

that rolls over
the

coastal range
to

my west out
the

third floor
window.

The fog
cranes

its neck
ever

so slightly
upward

to meet my
gaze,

like a timid
dog

just pulled
awake

after a short, fitful
nap.
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