Barefoot and Naked

Now, I am a bureaucrat with a broken heart and a dream of a vacation cruise package in the Bahamas pinned up onto the particle board in my cubicle. I attempt to douse the flames and merely end up torturing the terrorist in my liver with coffee in the morning and spirits at night. The sky hazes over like a cataract in my eye and the planet speeds up, leaving me dizzy and drinking joyfully on the emptiness. The detritus of working life cakes up under the keys of my keyboard. I turn it upside down and shake it out, making a sad little pile of chin whiskers, baby dust bunnies, bits of granola, bits of skin, and bits of dried snot. I sweep it onto the ground and have to wait a working day for the Korean Custodial Technician to mop it up the next morning. Everything smells like mothballs here and nobody speaks English. The purgatory I vomit up from time-to-time, urges the surging chorus rising up within my mind and heart, only screaming that I must run.