the significant nothingness of a 9 to 5

i stare glaringly at the left top corner
of the mac until my eyes fill with salt from
some dark place and the pixels become faulty
remnants of a clear graphic

to quit would be to succomb to
11 pm binges on steel reserve malt liquor
to awaken 2 pm with the world
trying to break out of my forehead

the synapse flickers, sparks in response
to a thought i have of lighting up in the office
my instincts think everything is a good idea
if i followed them more often

i would not be at the desk nodding off
to the hum of central air, the dull
light, pink walls, empty bulletin boards
i envision an escape through the open door

i never closed when i arrived here,
nowhere yet to be seen and it is clear
if you saw me today, you'd see straight through
this dullness has a way of hollowing true