There was the sound of a dry branch snapping
and all that came from my mouth was splinters.
Time was different underground, where the indicator
showed 5 minutes, then 5 minutes later still
showed 3, then a minute later the train arrived.
My desktop had no screensaver, because I never stopped.
I gave my three months notice in the form of a Haiku,
using a stapler to create Chinese pictograms
on my manager’s forehead, loosely translated:
’Swallows fly sunward / Feathered arrows strike bullseye / Bow strings snap when dry’
Described with the cold logic of process mapping,
the key procedures of my heart were brief as winter’s
memory in the minds of migratory birds at the equator.
Though I was responsible for money, the penny never dropped
until I realised my own books did not balance and were askew;
so I threw six coins to form a hexagram,
whose enigmatic prophecy stated I was fated:
‘Dead trees yet stand tall / Strength in weakness unchallenged / Leaves fall where they will’
Homeward tunnels connected by an arcane topography, derived
from a notion of straight lines my senses deny.
