here again at this old desk
as before a magnificent mandala
with pens and pencils pointing in all directions
and office supplies piled high as dreams
tax statements and bank notices
work reports and records for filing
paper clips and rubber bands and
staplers of control, trying to reign the growth in
to keep the paper from spreading like chaos
like bacteria, like fire
forms and certificates, pearls on a necklace,
proving somehow there is life
on this altar of the office
perhaps not intelligent life, judging from the bills
the receipts, the wadded tissue paper,
the scribbles, the doodles, the random spillage of inks,
and the coffee stains;
but life
___like a latticework slowly spreading thin
___ ___geometries of blood cells and coins
working out a pattern, and then fading,
softly falling into trashbins
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