Face of an incompetent jerk, the brazen novice goes to work in the great demarcation.
Living in the great demarcation.
How much can one position hurt?
You’re slouching, tucking in your shirt in the great demarcation.
You could leave a note at your desk listing every point you could stress.
But who’d read it? Probably no one.
You could wave every right to be had.
You could pray to the god of your dad.
Who’d believe it? Probably no one.
Mondays come down every week, caffeine to keep me at the peak in the great demarcation.
Tuesdays spent signaling defeat, the caffeine brainstem starting to leak in the great demarcation.
A list of grievances, a kind of whistling, mosquito feeding near my ear.
What good is patience?
Comrades aplenty that won’t defend me.
No, not this year, and not the next one.