Thoughtful Titles are welcome

I wish to resign from my position of slavery and subservience 40 hours a week

I wish to resign from the 24-hour factory turnaround cogs in the brain

I wish to resign from hungry stomachs starved spirits drained drudgery lifeless

I wish to resign from a partitioned life, the computers, printers, faxes, photocopiers are not made out of grass and it’s no fun running around them

I wish to resign from this machine angst: the toner has run out, it’s as thin as my blood, the printer is out of paper, it’s as empty as my head aches need paracetamol the air is too conditional, the stapler has cracked its last staple

Do not worry about me, I will go like Bartleby to my grave besides I’ve still got a filing system at home, I’m going to clip my winged articles

Goodbye to the paper moon and the cardboard stars I have cut you out for too long

Don’t ask me to flex my muscles under your corporate clock

I’m giving you my notice now 21days I’ll expect some fuss, a morning tea, don’t disappoint your clients

You’d better beware I’ve been reading Allen Ginsberg and I’m starting to believe in my own lunatic dreams again. Won’t you support them?

It’s no good your paying me when you spend it too

Don’t try to intimidate me with your red-necked fluffed up self-importance

Don’t cock-a-doodle-do down my neck: you’re too late, at the end of the day it’s just one of those things

Don’t try to sweeten me with your chocolate rationalizations they’re melting under the heat of my conviction

I won’t lose sleep, run up and down steps for you,
I won’t speed on the ring road for you,
miss my breakfast for you,
This is the ugliness we’ve created lethargic prisoners numbed by the re-runs,
Smiles, words, thoughts, movements,
(How many times have I scaled this carpet?) Burning off steam on the wheel of ambition,
Counting the rupees for successful sedation,
Editing our emotions, ticking off our lives,
Saving our energies for some day is the weekend really as fantastic as we hope it will be every Friday afternoon with a naive school-boy enthusiasm, running out of the offices, satchels flying somewhere we know the faxes are left on.
Our fates are being printed out in a perfect laser typo graph,
And all the yellow rejects will fill the bins on Monday.
We brush our teeth then eat lollies before bed and think we’re clever.