i have interviews;
plastic plants are placed squarely throughout stale spaces
the real plants are on desks and on window sills,
mainly private offices
where women sit and look out windows;
they wait once a month
for window washers to lather the glass
and it’s calm, their legs are crossed
they wait for the squeegee to screech
and then they wipe away the rain stains
that should have been pressed in a diary

windows get clean slates
at night you can hardly tell that anything is *****
but today the windows are stained
through sunlight one can see it all
even the grasshopper leg pinned to the fourth floor window
where a man is flossing his teeth
after having craved a super food salad
that he won’t allow his assistant to know about

i have interviews;
and i will pick at my **** stockings
hide my pleasant coffee stains
but not shave my ***** hair
i will sit with the women who take pleasure in windows;
collar bones with freckles and sun kissed tints
eyes always nearly closed
because of the succulent hisses by cubicle #3;
they slither through lungs and offer more
than how many words i can type
before someone lights up another cigarette

words,
do you know
how toxic you sounded?
it was your spirit of anger;
distinguishable amongst
your flaming passion
of your career.

words,
do you know how
you made a maiden
cry in a filthy land;
and because of your ego,
you have used the kingdom
for your battles without
clear victories.

your words.
they hurt.
sword-wounds
would probably
feel better than
your words.

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.

an office
trove packed
plentiful travels
today with
a fast
clip their
pens and
refills on
swivels for
a techie
to browse
afternoons for
ergonomiety and
nearby as
a wayfarer
needs a
coffee break

Wake up, eyes barely open and you already chugging that coffee.
Brain barely responding and you are already heading to the office
Making dollars for someone else on borrowed time
While you are living on a salary of dimes

Too tired to even enjoy your waking life
Functionin like a zombie but you wishing for the afterlife
Come back from work, eat, clean, sleep and restart
Waiting for the moment when the burden is gone. You're done for the day. You've done your part

You saving for the 401k a couple cents per pay. Hopin you'll reach retirement age.
Convince yourself that this is a fair wage
Most of it going towards your bills, really hoping you dont fall ill
Probably wont even touch your funds. Will go to whoever is in your will.

Used to chase dreams now you're running away from bad debt
Think this is what the rest of your life is gonna look like? You bet.  
Used to buy suits for your dream job now you're still in the sofa wearing your sweats
Get used to it. This is as good as it gets

They say your whole life is ahead of you. Have faith.
But between your 7am shift and bed when you gonna have time to chase your dreams. At 8?
Too late thats dinner time. Better make sure youre getting your proteins and greens
Thats all you still got control on. Dont let it go, by all means.

The shades are drawn,
lights off, dark on,
projected documents fill the wall.
The staff, caught up, hinge on little things.
Big things to them
but I've checked out, far off,
wishing this time was with you,
sailing around the moon,
toasting champagne to stars,
far from the river of cars and exhaust
that I must swim
to be in your arms.

Say that word
Forget the world
Enough of office
Meet me over coffee

Let the coffee brew
Days together are few
The taste will stay
Beyond our last day

Like sugar and coffee
Come! blend with me
A promise made long back
Do it before you go back