About working in an office

You won’t find the filing cabinets under your desks
they’re on the roof; comment edited with bird shit and ash, and I can tell you
my forearms pulsed with the grey weight of maths.

I thought about going back but my feet got a system on the stairs
and the paper diaohorrea relieved itself into the sky cistern
like tax-back in December.

Double check your crib sheet,
there’s no mark scheme for the things I did last week,
the way I woke up wearing nothing but two eyes dressed like dignitaries.

I high-fived the bin man, made muppets out of mittens
and in a book shop left a kiss
in every copy of ‘self justifications of a prick tease.’

I wrapped spreadsheets round my wrists
and in the evening made out like a data medusa
neon snaking text off each hip.

I placed trust in the fist of a cold hard bitch
sent a small me to a squat party
without a taxi fee back to somebody who knows

how to make a lever arch file close properly.
Truth is, I Iike lists
I like scaring chaos shitless.