Cubicle 69

Cubicle 69 6/7/2012

There are eyes in our head
And there are eyes in the sky
Everything recorded
But nothing understood.

Everything has a number
And every number has a place
Measured, labeled, and categorized
On a spreadsheet or on a graph
Geometric and souless.

My name is a number
And my number is my grade
Arbitrarily evaluated
Judged, measured, and weighed.

In a tall steel tube
All covered with glass
Used, wasted and angry
In a dull gray cube.

Here the dead live
And here the dead walk
Mindlessly going through the motions
For a pay check
And a promise.

Clawing at each other
For scraps of rotten flesh
Periodically tossed out
At always the same time.

Many have come
And many have gone
But here I remain
Still trying
And still paying.

The clouds pass over
But the view never changes
As one day fades
And they all run together.

I dream and plan
And I think and write
All in a row
And all in a line
Still holding my own
In cubicle sixty nine.

Living is a state of mind
But many are those
Who live
Dead in the heart
And dead in the head.

They may think I am good
Or they may think I am sick
But I still keep on going
Pouring out the words
And feeling fine.

I work in a building
In suite number thirty six
Here for life
And watching the time
More alive than ever
In cubicle sixty nine.

Maybe you’re on top
Or maybe on the bottom
Flipped over or lopsided
But its not about your place
But rather who you are
And what you do.