Behind A Desk

Sitting behind a desk

you lose one-quarter
of your visual area.

Half-way up from the knees,

closer to crotches than feet.

Sitting behind a desk

you lose one-quarter
of your height, stature.

Half-way down from the eyes

closer to breasts than lips.

All day here, between bustling

feet and loquacious lips--watching
smiles greeting frowns stroking folders
full of adulthood, full of criticism.

Half-way past days of mothered

milk, closer to dirt than fire.

Sitting behind a desk

you gain a perspective
reserved for hunchbacks, children.

Half-way before nights of drooling

laughter, closer to love than lust.

Sitting behind a desk

you gain a realization
reserved for terminal patients, cripples:

Between feet, below eyes,

closer to crotches and breasts--

each of these passing creatures gripping

term papers and test scores--
each of these grinning stupids--

each of these melancholy frowns

are revolving memoirs

behind a desk--dreaming.