Long Spreadsheets Poems

Fruitful days are filling up the piles of treasure mesuring the misogyny it shouldn't be a topic of forgery while waiting for break outs throwing correction direction of stereotyping the tipicallity of capabilities in abilities...

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Fruitful days are filling up the piles of treasure mesuring the misogyny it shouldn't be a topic of forgery while waiting for break outs throwing correction direction of stereotyping the tipicallity of capabilities in abilities...

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This is what the soul wants, newness:
these sacrifices, this dedication, this patience,
the sound of children laughing in the bedroom,
my own voice like a new and unheard melody,
my own strength like the dreams I used to...

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In a space that should hum with focus,
Where thoughts flow like ink on paper,
I walk the halls, and what do I hear?
The clatter of egos—loud, brash,
A symphony of insecurity,
Each voice a drum pounding louder,
Drowning out...

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1

The personal is boring
as are my ruminations on the war.
What I need to do I can't try: 
wander without shelter in the backcountry.
Or go deeper into the polity, 
join a committee or a party.

Minute by...

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It’s time to clock in and start up the vacuum.
This cash collector has walked into the room.
Dropping the balances like bombs from a B52.
Improving aged receivables and contacts too.

Repairing rifts with customers withholding payment.
Making sure...

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Knowshow

All nodes firing all the time
Shine on—the glare focusing the hacks
Everything shown
Everything known				
Metamalice is good to go
It’s the Knowshow
		
The devolving snarkyskanks are trickling it to the remember-whens
Viral krankdaddies are upsiding leveraged retro to the never-thens
Bouce...

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when i arrived on earth
I must have seen the rain through the window
it was saturday in the hospital room
busy women in white
fluttering snowflakes in my made-up memory
giving injections measuring pressure stopping bleeding
a half-naked and thin...

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Clock in, clock out
Wake, commute, work, sleep, repeat
They say I'm making a living
But where in this equation am I alive?

Traded my sunrise for spreadsheets
My sunset for status reports
My laughter for leader boards
My dreams for direct deposits

We're all running on this hamster wheel
Spinning faster just to stay in place
"Success" measured in square footage
And vacation days we're too exhausted to take

They sold us a promise:
Work hard now, live later
But later keeps getting pushed back
Like a horizon we never reach

When did we agree
That breathing means producing?
That existing means earning?
That value equals output?

My grandmother's hands knew real work
Soil under fingernails, calluses with purpose
She worked to live
I live to work

The system whispers:
"Just one more promotion"
"Just one more year"
"Just one more sacrifice"
While life slips through fingers
Clutching paychecks

Making a living
What a curious phrase
As if living itself
Is something manufactured
Something we must earn the right to do

I want to make a life instead
Rich with moments that don't fit on resumes
Abundant with connections no algorithm can track
Wealthy with experiences no bank can hold

Because making a living
Without actually living
Is the most expensive purchase
We never meant to make.
...

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Should'a Read The Fine Print


I am intrigued by all computer tasks,
and competent and skilled in every scheme
from word process and graphic arts design,
to spreadsheets, database and all between.

But, I became too confident last week
when I...

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I spilled my seventh cup of coffee 
While shuffling through the papers on my desk.
It was a ham and cheese performance, 
A little bit of business-like burlesque.
I sort through tax returns and spreadsheets, 
Deciding what...

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I'm at Dunkin Donuts dunking a donut,
for the experience.
Letting my memories pass through me.
Not repressing any of them.

I'm pretending to be a scientist
of the mind.
It's not fun though.
Makes you glad spreadsheets have functions!

Somewhere in the...

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Gagged by the navy neck-tie crowned upon him by the last soldier, the businessman precariously waltzes the death march down into “Sam’s Greens and Grains”, a specialty salad shop that locally sources lettuce from Upstate...

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Because I could not escape from Life –  
It rudely dragged me forth –  
The chaos swirled, consuming all –  
And Oblivion, my worth.

We raced through days – no time to rest...

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Maud dreamed by the fire, her blue eyes half-closed,
While a grey cat on a grey mat beside her reposed.
Then she wakened and watched as the fast-falling snow
Was whipped into drifts when the sad wind would...

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For those of us whose lives are nearly complete
  Who can recall life before computer spreadsheets
I'd like to point out a most marvelous technical feat
  Which is, of course, the cool little button...

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Beyond all visible signs
The road to expression reaches thin
With paper maps and plastic engineered thoughts

Specializing in tourism, the cartographer's grin
Reclused to souvenirs and monopoly's pen
Sign posts grifted from lens shape
Speculating from future spreadsheets

The emblem of...

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You are the button-down mind of my dreams; all safe 
and tucked away in the regimented reality of your nine-to-five 
world. I want to tie you to a straight-back chair, lover-boy, 
and squeeze some spontaneity...

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