The Fluorescent Lights

I'm walking in place. I'm falling down. I see a beacon of light from the fax machine. I forgot to shave my face. I didn't comb my hair. My skin is pale, but that's acceptable. I decorate my house like a cubicle so I can feel more comfortable. I shine my shoes until I can see my face. I starch my shirt until it chafes the skin. In the morning I'll be ready to force a day into a folder, to represent myself with numbers, to fabricate a smile. The fluorescent lights make us wilt like the plants that cannot be trained to stay alive! I fill my house with technology so I don't have to talk, so I don't have to think. Take a picture of my face. Record the sound of my voice. We do not last forever. We can be trained to perform anything.