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Ode to Desk MAG
Oh desk,
You are the object of my discomfort,
the pinnacle of all that annoys me.
Your surface, riddled with the graffiti,
the dreams and desires of
misled mindless drones which occupy you.
Underneath you hide a
myriad collection
of masticated confections,
like stale parasites they cling.
With a seat like that of rock,
relentlessly unforgiving to my tired frame,
I sit and drift in and out of the
groping hands of sleep.
Alas I cannot escape you,
for I will always be doomed to
reside in your inexorable structure.
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