Vintage Words


It starts as a bureau

in the bed chamber; chester

drawers chugged full 

of forms, T's to be dotted,

I's to be capitalized. Suddenly,

you notice, the desk clerk

is asleep.


Nothing moves, no clock

ticks, no pen approves any

request else the world

inexorably begins the procedure

to end prematurely. Clasp 

the knobs gently, tug. Your

entire world stops whirling

until you sign. And you have

to sign.


Tell  me, how did you learn 

to use red tape as a bandage?

Identification always checks

out, the deeds are all validated.

The great seal is attached

and unbroken. The bureaucratic

countdown pauses. The top

drawer is  permanently locked

because you lost the key.







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