Reduce, recycle, reuse…

by

Sometimes when my cubicle seems particularly small or the thought of the 27th floor is giving me vertigo, I write poetry.  So that the guy across the aisle doesn’t notice, I write on otherwise discarded, preused post-its.

My office poems are pretty short.  I’ll post at least one a day.

 

Paper planes slip over cube walls:

love letters to our mutual boredom.

Yours complex like B52s,

mine a little crumpled.

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