to the great temple they clamber
black specks sullying the white stone concourse
glass towers rise from the ground like teeth
gnawing at the clouds
on and on they flood the reception areas
the elevators, the static carpets crackle
beneath black leather and rubber
here like the bowls of a viking armada
keyboards as oars, roaring through the
ocean spray of outboxes
the storm clouds of lunchtime meetings
and the inevitable death of the day
the sun sliding past west facing windows
God clocking out sighing.
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