Sitting at my workstation I kept swirling my chair around,
Battling the strenuous drowse that tried to yoke me to the ground,
“How could this happen? This is the first hour of my job,” I wondered,
I chuckled. “How fool of me! It’s Monday today,” I remembered.

I peeked to my left to see an empty chair,
“No-one to talk around; hey, that’s so unfair!”


I cringed viscerally at the thought of spending the day without uttering a word,
I tried to re-task my focus on my computer screen when a soft voice I heard,
Made me turn, and as I did, I veered myself to the source of the euphonic voice,
I felt the dumbfoundedness of a person bewitched by a magical spell, twice.

For some moments I couldn’t decrypt the words that her lips uttered,
As I just kept staring into her graceful eyes, helpless and all cluttered.


She asked with a soft smile, “Is this person absent today?” and  motioned to the workstation on my left,
I felt my dopamine surge at the possibility of what might happen next,
I nodded as soon as I realised my tongue has gone numb,
She ensconced herself and smiled, her cheeks as rotund as a plum.

I swallowed a lump in my throat that I didn’t realise had formed,
I wasn’t hoping for anything like this but I liked what my day had unboxed.


“What is she? Are humans allowed to be this beautiful?” I questioned my mind,
Was she a manifestation of my dreams or an angel in disguise!
It seemed like her eyes possessed a power in them like Midas in his hands,
A sight of innocence that could even force the flying time to land.

I leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her pretty brown eyes,
She turned to me with a gaze of a doe and my tongue again got tied.


“Any problem?” She questioned me with a raise of her brow,
“Yes, your eyes. They’re too beautiful,” the response I couldn’t let out,
Instead I shook my head and turned my eyes away from her,
My peripheral could see her blushing; it seemed the bubble has finally burst.

I tried to venture a conversation but failed to remember the morphemes,
The anonymity between us allowed the nervousness to sweep in.


I sighed deeply and turned about to do what I’m paid for,
But her presence beside me made it harder for me to stay calm,
An unexpected “Hello” came from my left and an introduction followed the greet,
Although stunned by the suddenness I tried to smile at her, from cheek to cheek.

We exchanged our names and conversed a little for a while,
Before she got engaged in her work and I in mine.


After hours of punching the keyboard buttons I stretched my arms and yawned,
She giggled at me and I took it as a cue to move my first pawn,
I embarked, “I’m going to the cafeteria to have some tea”,
I hesitated for a moment and resumed, “would you like to come with me?”

She rolled her eyes and I understood she has refused my kind and genuine offer,
I began to walk away. “Wait a minute, let me lock my PC,” and then I saw her got up.


We walked our way to the cafeteria, slower than two people normally would,
My chivalry erupted as I held the door open for her as she entered the room,
We occupied a table for two and  it appeared like a date-night is about to happen,
With she in front of me and  the stories that we shared, it seemed like all the troubles in the world didn’t matter.

I mulled over the thought that I might have a crush on her smile,
But there was an absolute certainty that I had fallen in love with her eyes.


She shared some cheerful stories about her childhood and also the moments in her life she remorse,
She had a way of crinkling her nose adorably that made her appear cuter than she was before,
“You may have a body of a woman but you have a sweetness of a child,” I abruptly blurted out,
She smiled deep into my eyes and I could feel the brightest smile I ever had form on my mouth.

“That’s the sweetest thing someone has ever said about me,” she flushed a little while she said this,
It took us a moment to realise that we’re holding hands; the touch of hers was something I couldn’t resist.


We got up as we finished our beverages and sauntered our way back to our daily routine,
I tried to rein my thoughts that our day was  about to end, but my efforts were all just futile,
I just wished this night shall never pass as I wanted to spend more of my time with her,
We logged out of our PC’s as our shift ended but I craved for one last conversation with this girl.

While ambling towards the exit in silence I turned on my heels to look into her beautiful brown eyes,
I sighed as I looked at her and tried to settle down the feeling to hug her that was about to rise,
“I spent this beautiful day with a beautiful girl I wish I could see more of,” I said with truthfulness in my voice,
She smiled at the ground and then looked up, “You will. Tomorrow at 8. Here’s my number. The place is your choice.

========================================================­===

He invades the bureau,
census is terminal
they say everyone died just like we wanted,
mission success!
like when Ali beat spinx
cordial still morbid
like quartered limbs delivered by horses
still door nail coffins shut, dark as oil spills
the grim reap creeps up
to put hex on exxon,
he sneezes blood
then eats some sludge,
freezes time, then moves on.

You stitched your name
upon the black walls
of my mind,
casting shadows
of folded hands
and unmentionable
fallacies
over the wide open spaces
in the whites of my eyes.

and I cringed
at your fingertips;
wilting
like the frost bitten crocuses
in my neglected garden;
receding into the relative safety
of silence,
soft as the echo
of an empty room,
bitter as a bird
who has forgotten
how to sing,
enduring
as the memories
of your hands
around my throat.

weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo
arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove
wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too.
harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle
swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew

and tantamount to its feral cavities
thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split
news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter
infiltrates the **** cavernous walls

This inner ear and greater sound
knew to find sanctuary here.
Lends its awesome craft to the next
And next, and next, and next;

beautiful unboxed melodies
new unused sweet single-reeds
threading that 20s centrifuge.
Saxophone. Incantations unfolding

Aloof in its ***** it unwraps
The veil of green, a costume of black coffees
Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet
Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke
At the heap of its glorious song

Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate
Bliss. Intrinsic and purple
An irrational knot of Portuguese drum
Met over by African toms and rattles

A glue imbued into those unmistakable
Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed
Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves
These are the weapons of our new key strokes.

And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew
Where death greeted me to intervene a place
Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes
Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking
At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring

Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils
Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace
Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves
Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next,
And the next.

The little vacuum wished it would
Grow up and be like its cousin, the
Bag less wonder, he could clean
Places where others couldn,t dream
Of, he was the three wheeled wonder,
The little vacuum wanted to be like
So much and more.

He was taken out of his box twice a
Week, his mother was the toaster his
Dad was a fridge, she made him toasty,
But he gave her the shivers, but in a
Good way my family are like others for sure.

Buttons pressed on and off, his hose was
His nose all kinds of things he sniffed up
From crumbs to socks. But the smell always
Blocked his nose and he did sneeze, out
Come the sock, dust and all, where once
Their was clean carpet there was dust and
Mouldy apple core.

Was it the sock or the apple moldy with
Colour of boggy green and rottern black,
How long had that been inside rotting at
His core. He felt not so good, every time
Turned on he would blow a cloud of dust,
Not ******* it back.

He was down, his hose was not at its best,
He felt like he,d ****** up a cactus, and
The taste was like a soggy moggy or the
Stinkest cheese mixed with a wet sock could
You imagine that.

His mother said you need to keep toasty,
His dad gave him the cold shoulder and
Said son man up, that was the end of that.


So they took him out of the box, thoughts
Went through the little vacuums switch,
Would he end up like uncle larry. He was
A proud drill but one day he could keep it
In, it feel out they said a ***** was lose, that
Was the end of that. Last I heard he was
Recycled, his parts now used everywhere
Scary is that.

So I was lifted out, my nose off it came they
Were washing it under the tap,They opened
Me up to look inside, I felt air in my insides
A weird feeling is that, a bag they took out
Looking worse for wear, had that been inside
Me since they had first unboxed me, gross they
Said was it me I thought, but it was the bag in fact.

They were gentle as they washed my insides,
It tickled me I let out a giggle, they looked at
Each other was that you, not me could have
Been the cat.

Refreshed I felt as they put my hose on
I could breath once more and fresh scents,
Not the smell of a wet moogy, how much
Better was that. A new bag they put in me,
Then closed the cap, I waited for the switch,
Nothing happened, was I to be like uncle
Larry, but they hadnt plugged me in how
Silly is that.

So a whoosh and a sound and I sounded great,
I felt like I was new out the box, so proud was
I, that I cleaned the whole house in record time
In fact. So this is my tail of the little vacuum,
Who was under the weather, but if he,d only
Washed regularly but he cant be blamed for that.

He was a happy and knew one day he would
Grow up to be like his bagless cousin and
Make his dad chill out be proud of him, his
Mother she was already proud of what he did
Around the house.

There are clouds hanging around my head
And there is skin capturing my skull. I am boxed in. I can’t hear what you say when you speak.
This is not a problem when you have your hat with the earmuffs on and are momentarily deaf. When you have your hat on neither of us can hear.
Your hat has a pattern on it that looks like your skull
And so when you have it on you are like a deaf half-skeleton. This is when I feel the most need for lip-language, Morse code, when I want to drum my messages out on your skin. I say more when I lock my brain out of my skull and leave my body to its own devices.
You feel the bumps of earth trying to poke through the street
I know this because you had your earmuff hat on again this morning when you went walking outside
But even with your hearing gone, the street spoke to you, in bumps and ridges and edges and curbs and paint. You spoke its language back to it, feedback through
The soles of your feet.
You may be a little scraped up but you know the asphalt
Like a closed loop, like Saturn’s rings
Like the grooves of your favorite record.
I’ve seen you when you sleep, floating two inches above your covers. Your skin becomes yarn and it unravels, it waves, it ties itself around your ceiling fan.
Multi-colored yarn that twists and writhes and slides and knots itself until
The wavelength steadies and you are a solid telephone-line-stretch of yarn
Reaching straight across town.
I touch my end of the yarn and I whisper to the other end. Then I sit in the dark humid air.
I sit and I wait for the response.
This is when the clouds lift.
When the skin around my skull evaporates and I am left bare bones, unboxed.
When this happens
I hear the sound of Earth’s rotation
I hear your telephone-wire skin
I hear the closed loop
I hear Saturn’s rings
I hear the grooves of your favorite record
I hear the bumps in the asphalt.
I hear it all.
I am begging you to break your silence.

Running in circles round-and-round
Impatiently waiting until the day you're found
Why do we do this to ourselves?
Pretending we're unboxed toys lining store shelves
Waiting for the one that will open us up to add value to their life
Until that day comes, we create and dwell on constant strife
We need to let ourselves out of the box
We must stop waiting to be invited to the others' flocks
Arise from your prison, you won't regret this decision
Already in Hell, how scary could it be outside of your cell?
Seize the day, no soul can enjoy life in a truly lonesome way

a wolf is the shape of

its howl...

belting out the

moon gingerly unboxed

by thoughtful skies.

eight directions, and scintillate

caress of her mastercraft...

windless with the breath of

refinement.

exactly when...

the howl reaches, and marks

her.

an awful poem is
someone that I see on the subway reading and I immediately understand
summer wind that doesn't need to be questioned
an item unboxed and used for exactly what it needed to do
walking directly from home to work and back
passing the fountain
not throwing a penny in
not seeing the child get it's shoelace caught on the railroad platform in Barcelona and getting hit by the train
putting a dog to sleep and leaving the room
crying

The Chamber I dwell, a personal hell
The anger befell, unmistakable bell

In this boxed room; boxes off reality
In this unboxed mind, unboxes calamity

Peril circulates
Terror Percolates

Doors close, possibilites fold
As these ideas sit and mold

I Just Unboxed A Heartbreak...

My father is saying nothing.
I know it, he knows it, and it is here,
the inevitable farewell but not quite.

I have told myself I am ready for this.

That I shall not be wrenching Bombay Bad Boys
from the shelves of an alien Tesco
to gorge on while On The Road remains unread.

That I shall not be downing shots of lurid liquid
with friends whose names do not yet exist
in warm bars where the toilets are pockmarked with sick.

I have assured him, and my mother,
and the punnet of mates I’ve accrued
this will not be my life circa one month from now.

The luggage has somehow trebled,
the back seat obese with a calamity of items,
an unboxed IKEA lampshade, unused cups from home.

In a second, a pat on the back,
a proud of you son, perhaps, isn’t that what Dads say?
He will worry, but mustn’t.

I think of my mother peering out the living room window.
Her eyes are flustered with tears.
The car seems to have stopped talking. I open the door.