“The forgotten chord and the arthritic chair; the confetti of dust sprinkled by the Styrofoam cloud,” a sacrificial goat, with a limited vocabulary, can’t be more articulate in describing his shared work station. He read and re-read the non-verbal messages. He still expects them to be there on the twisted arm rest. “Is there an end to it? Would he ever stop marking his territory,” the goat wonders. It’s the same skirmish every day: liberation vs surrender- the computer monitor sliding back and forth like a pawn, entering enemy territory and receiving pardon, as a gesture of goodwill.
The bloodless campaign continues. OCD waits for the waking hour- impatient with the dream of annexation.


Published by: flatlined84

A thinker outside the quarantine zone. The words on this blog will assault your senses, would make you curse in the holy name of Bard. If that's not enough, leave a piece of your mind in the comments section- the writer is on the dole and is always hungry.

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