Box #210 I can’t seem to find you

So I sit and wait for the time to turn

To 4pm so I can be free

From this silence that hangs

Like a broken chandelier

 Box 290 working papers

I guess I’ll put some tape on the slipping sides

But I’d so rather sit here and dream

Of other times

And the times to come

Like gargoyles we sit under florescent lights

The blinds are drawn

Fingers tapping up the sum

Accountants and lawyers

Numbers and papers

A dragon sits on his gold

Collecting his pennies

And counting his digits

 Arid smoke arises…

I’ve realized while sitting

In this cave

Hunched over boxes of files

And numbers of numbers

One thing…

I will not be counting numbers

Or boxes

Or files

Or sitting on gold

For the rest of my life