Atrium

Empty chairs and crowded stair
cases distribute people like water
irrigating crops. Contradicting motivational
posters make us wonder what exactly
they think they’re growing here.
Leaning against each other in the hallways
to catch precious minutes of uninterrupted
thought. They smoke packs a day
just outside the atrium even though
they always end up caught.
Uninspiring tirades from experts on leashes
make eyes as dry as deserts in the summer.
Lying face down in rain puddles to help
themselves see is increasingly the most
popular solution.
In secret they talk about new constitutions
closing all previous loopholes from the past.
A Magna Carta for a millennia long overdue,
and it looks so good it can’t be true.
The blades of the windmill are covered in
blood when nothing else can stop the flood.
The sound is just the ocean’s weight against them.

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