#cubicle
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...
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 12:24 AM UTC
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.
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 1:26 AM UTC
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 two fingers 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
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔢 ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔠𝔲𝔟𝔦𝔠𝔩𝔢
𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢
ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔨𝔢𝔶𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔞𝔯𝔡
𝔎𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢
𝔐𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔶
𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔬
ℑ 𝔫𝔬𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔬
𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰
𝔗𝔦𝔩' 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔟𝔶
𝔖𝔬 𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱
𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 4:17 PM UTC
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
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:59 AM UTC
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?
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC
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.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 2:30 AM UTC
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
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
They look just like gophers, popping out of holes
my co-workers, and neighbors, burrowed in like moles
The offices align the walls, where management abounds
pontificating from the pulpit, polishing their crowns
No longer there I dwell, my escape a thing of myth
a place to not return again, somewhere I'll never miss
The easy employee logic, that management confounds
reads like a Dilbert moment, so quiet, and yet so **** profound
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
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.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
The chair wheels are caught
On the carpet and I don't
Want to speak aloud.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Hands of rugged mysteries
typing letters fast
counting down the minutes
time is standing still
creating distant fantasies
within a neverland
knowing I will not fulfill
dreams and wishes true
money spent
buying smiles
approval, but demise
for paper only melts in fire
souls go somewhere else
what is worth
effort
daily
for only
bones will
endure
confusion overcomes me
I'm at a loss
tossing money
wasting life
sitting in this cube
typing
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
i feel like a shredded jigsaw puzzle
the unsolvable rubik's cube
abstract art by the picasso of melancholy
who couldnt find a way out of his blue period
melted ice cream sundae and cherry
sitting forgotten rotting on hot summer concrete
the common man of the cubicle
would eat people like me for dinner
and he would enjoy it too with his
overly happy son and his
overly happy wife and his
overly happy purebred golden trophy dog
i sit at the middle of the table
the eye of attention and
stuffed by an apple to keep me shut and
they stare at me ready to tear me apart and
for dressing tonight they will eat my tears
cover me in blankets and lay me down in bed
i will slip away for the night and
in the morning hopefully
i will be a step closer to completed
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
While the birds begin to sing their songs
The sun climbs silently into the sky
Fleeting dreams fade away at the breaking of day
The dreamer reprieved, he opens his eyes
He gets ready for work and puts on a tie
Fit for a funeral or fit for a wedding
He sees during the day but its only a lie
Truth to be found only when the dreamer is resting
As the sun creeps quietly down to the West
The dreamer lays his head down to rest
Escaping his reality to something more real
He attempts to lose himself in his dream surreal
Light sets the scene as it infallibly does,
The dreamer alone but feeling no fright
Rosewood, as usual, the door appears
Gold handle glowing bright in the light
Behind the door is an unknown world
A world without convention and without ties
The dreamer caught motionless in a reach for the handle
Indefinitely pondering a world without lies
While the birds begin to sing their song
The dreamer reopens his eyes
He could only think of the rosewood door
And how he did not want to wear a tie.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC