Last Words

Pencil Necked

Dare not mention God in a crowded elevator
as there is a separation of church and state
once you pass over the dividing line of the parking lot.

When the doors vacuum seal behind you
all traces of individuality
are zipped locked for freshness.

Wards of the state, the long arms of the laws,
clicking and clacking hours away
reshuffling people out of flesh into paperwork
into a refined reduction process from features into ones and zeroes:
An ultimate weight loss plan.

Manhandled by grunts that live at the bottom end of the pay scale,
unwitting souls are first stacked vertically one after another
then again, piled higher into horizontal sheaves of wire baskets
resting on top of desks devoid of personality
in cubicle after cubicle where all traces of humanity
have been wiped away for expediency and efficiency.

Description of a working desk:
pens, paper, tools -- what is the use of photographs?
Can't you remember what your spouse looks like?
Have to have visual cues reminding you of your life?
If they wanted you to have a life,
one would have been issued long before now.

Templates of thought yellow taped to the tool of choice,
cheat notes/short cuts to deciphering code sequences
manually hotwiring the brain to digest the indigestible
babble without reason policy and procedures
repeatedly referenced for force feeding regulations
into well-worn paths of knowing/dreaming/breathing.

Service with a smile from the crypt of a rut?
Is this what kids dream to do when growing up?
Benefits are good.
Rationale enough to keep the windmills moving.

Cannot give thanks for food on my plate
with the Boss looking on:
working for an atheist can be fun.
Drinking the blood of the Lamb is a capital sin
but the Boss can sip multiple glasses
of suss weise wine each night
staggering in each morning to sit in a dark office
because the Light weighs too heavy
on an injured mind.

This is the same one who tells me
I am weak which is why I must rely
on a supreme being to help me live my life.
Clinging to the mysticism of bones, blood and ghosts
will not help me hit the glass ceiling I am told.
Organized religion hides the sins of the flesh
and steps on the feminine neck
as if the System were so very different
from anything else.

Current state of affairs is mapped with lined pockets
of false idols in the executive suites
who manage booty calls while board surfing
for the coming week's fresh meat.
Whistle-blowers do not pass go, but get the gulag
until they leave, crawling out, on their own.
Rapists and pedophiles can access financial aid,
but, if a kid smokes a joint? Kiss that fiscal option good-bye.
Yet this is the heaven for the depressed
salvation for the downtrodden
this is the gateway towards a better way of life.

No where else will you find so few
working so little for so many
to serve and protect and provide
for our unique American Way of Life.