the in box

 

I want to explore the cave floor of
what you think about
listen to the tips of your words they incite
collide images
we say things at this job which are gray white black rectangles
they exist toneless and music-less
except they are all we have
some day we’ll be sitting across from a dinner the
food stuffed in front of us being copy machines,
faxes, cute little shredders,