Human Resources

The lord's war against you

climbs your knotted back

Blistered by the demand

you go on

seeking evolution in a song

ringing in tune with telephones

crying out to be informed

tethered to each day-to-day's rush to believe

in its own forward motion

 

The continuous activity

of the words I, me and my

suffocate in their inherent

exclusive failure

 

The brown dwarves of business days

remain locked down in bar codes;

a dumb bedding

for southern Christian small-talk

 

Their fear of world's end

on June sixth, two-thousand six

betrays the emotional defense of a child

among the paper-shredder's fornication

of a lascivious screen-saver

 

The pig-women in their head-sets and floral print

tango with the supply closet

while the coffee-maker and refrigerator wait

for their chance to cut-in

 

Their eyes glued;

absorbing the light-ray highway

fed digit chores from the symbol store

in an ever-fresh transitional modern

they explode in their sockets for wanting more

 

Our supplication falls silent

at the bloody feet of payroll;

her jobsworth toes tingle

Their heads the gnarly nails of yellowed health

She's a mute goddess

adorned in the lace trappings of Friday,

benefits packages and future vacations

 

Her devotion is a "safe" fantasy

Her members call her "the real world"

lapping her swollen cunt's white lightning

in a transitive Elvis Presley glitter

She's a cold case skull

Her mountain dew comes up dry at last breath

for all who follow

 

Her fluorescent air-con cubicle

personalized

Polaroid

like an inmate's wall scratch

 

The persistent hacking cough of the desktop printer

looks forward to lunch hour

as she marks a thumb-tacked calendar

with the words, "annual picnic"

 

The team morale meeting is an enchanting brochure

that offers only a surface comfort

Our primitive instinct attempting to log-on

gasps for air in this paperclip ocean

A deep-sea message forever undetected

because we don't open e-mails with attachments

 

Flailing about in the babbling brook of cliche-speak

we've gone to auction with the split-lives of ambitious mediocrity

while our lungs collapse under a billion gallons of routine

and we reason it all a pittance to pay for alphabetical order

 

"Save your prayers", she screams

"Saviour prayers"

Joel Moore

Mid South Web, 301 West Washington Street, Paris, TN, 38242

Mid South Web is Northwest TN & Southwest KY's premiere website development services company.