No. 22

August 22, 2014 § Leave a comment

The tyrannosaurus Rex pulls staples.

His old days – munching on herbivores –

reverberate in a cold plastic memory.

 

It was that damned

meteor. Knocked us into

a rotation of cubicles under

long bars of white light

rendering Strong Things humdrum.

 

We’re fading out amid pulled staples and

perforated paper.

“Pink page goes to shipping,

yellow goes to Brenda,”

and the white page? I’ve forgotten.

 

The tyrannosaurus Rex pulls staples.

I answer telephones. 

Damned meteor. 

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