(composing poetry in an office vacuum)
Imagine folding white paper rabbits.
Draw a black hole to crawl into.
Listen to radio static for “the pattern”.
Twist your fingers in your lap.
Gnaw the inside of your mouth.
Remember running alongside the bus.
March your feet under your desk in time to a song you have stuck in your head.
(telling not doing,
I am hollow, filled with straw)
Stand up to your superiors.
(still life in office chair)
Say ‘olive juice’ to yourself.
Mutter distractedly. (nobody is watching)
Chew the edges of your fingers threadbare, nibble at your quick.
(gateway activities to madness)
Demand impossibilities of invisible people.
Read your horoscope for the fifth time.
Give yourself a nosebleed and go home early,
or wait for an electric, metaphysic whistle.
Obsessively click the same part of the screen.
Punch the monitor with your palm.
Scribble a list of things you should be doing.
Cross out each one as if it were compete.
Look around for people watching you.
Pick up your telephone to check if it rang.
Wait till your screen saver kicks in and
move your mouse to turn it off.
(trying to capture a feeling)
Pretend this doesn’t make you nervous.
Laugh out loud at nothing.
Compose poetry in vacuum.