I try and write something
once a day – it feels like a compulsion – something that I have to do
– 5 minutes, 10 an hour? – the time is irrelevant –
it’s the act that’s important
of getting the words out and down
a selfish act, it is.
after a day in an office
trajectory following arbitrary figures
targets that are meaningless.
we do not save life’s.
we do not create.
we add no value.
it has no worth
numbers on a spreadsheet.
the weather is always outside while I’m inside chained to a desk
..the letters are wearing out on my keyboard – overworked- graphs and tables paperwork deadlines as a guillotine.
The threat of…
…we are not even treated like machines – more like lemons – squeezed till the pips squeak