Cubicle Ventriloquism

I awake once more to face the dreaded day
And go through the motions

The clatter of keys drone incessant
A staccato rhythm breaking into a hum
Drum like the soothing music of machinery
Soundtrack of my life in A flat minor

My fingers move not of their own accord
Dangling from puppet strings
three paper thin walls, a meager paycheck
And a phone that rings eternal
Are all that bind me here.

The storm twists around me
But I remain fixed for I
Am the eye
Trying to catch a fleeting glimpse
Of order in the madness
Of smeared smiles and eyes that cling.

The colors melt and blend in one another,
Stirred by the roaring cacophony of engines
And industry-a smear of noise and color
It frightens away the night and I
Scarcely know when to sleep
Haunted by dreams of roaring dynamos
That turn endlessly in the forgotten night.

And I'll go through the motions