The Office.
Approach my office, and first marvel from the outside.
See its stacco pinkish walls, its large open windows.
The door is glass, seemingly inviting, but the handle
The handles are too nice to touch.
The door is so delicate as to keep you out
If it shatters, that's your ass.
My driveway slopes and curves, winding
plumetting down like a snake
Or like stocks, into a depth
Into the parking garage, which is frankly
nothing too special.
But excuse its drab concrete walls and pillars
For they are sturdy, and perilous in their own right
The garage is very large, there is plenty of space.
The elevator room is a forrest.
Flat trees, unchanging scenery
Greenery all around and the sound of wet insects chirping.
There's a trash can, slightly out of place in a forrest
But it's made of gold, the shape of a bullet
Standing proud on its own. Look out for the birds above us.
My elevator is beautiful, much more so
than any elevator you might have
Unless this office is yours, because
there are mirrios, and real wood, and fake gold
Only two floors, but why take the stairs
There is a very beautiful elevator.
The inside of the office is nice too.
But I don't have to fucking impress you.
See its stacco pinkish walls, its large open windows.
The door is glass, seemingly inviting, but the handle
The handles are too nice to touch.
The door is so delicate as to keep you out
If it shatters, that's your ass.
My driveway slopes and curves, winding
plumetting down like a snake
Or like stocks, into a depth
Into the parking garage, which is frankly
nothing too special.
But excuse its drab concrete walls and pillars
For they are sturdy, and perilous in their own right
The garage is very large, there is plenty of space.
The elevator room is a forrest.
Flat trees, unchanging scenery
Greenery all around and the sound of wet insects chirping.
There's a trash can, slightly out of place in a forrest
But it's made of gold, the shape of a bullet
Standing proud on its own. Look out for the birds above us.
My elevator is beautiful, much more so
than any elevator you might have
Unless this office is yours, because
there are mirrios, and real wood, and fake gold
Only two floors, but why take the stairs
There is a very beautiful elevator.
The inside of the office is nice too.
But I don't have to fucking impress you.
posted by Stobux | 4:01 PM
1 Comments:
Well before I explain this poem, take a few moments to figure out for yourself what this is really a metaphor for...
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Finished? Have it in your head? Well here it is... it's not a metaphor for anything. This poem was inspired by the guy who owns the office building I'm sitting in. That's it. The weird part might be the forrest in the elevator room, but they've put up forresty wall paper, put up fake birds in the sprinklers and a sign that says "Look out for the birds!" and they play insect sounds.
With this poem I was trying to make it feel like a metaphor for something, while fabricating nothing about my office building. I'm trying to show that people can over analyze things when they're really just too simple to comprehend. The good thing about overanalyzing, is you turn it into a metaphor for yourself. Whatever this office means to you, once you've captured that meaning from it, this poem is now your poem. The office is just what I'm working in, and what the inspiration for this "poem" owns. But because you've created a meaning for yourself, it's now your poem entirely. Take full credit.
Oh the end might be rude and/or funny to some people, the poem was dragging on and I didn't want to keep going with it, so I just cut it off.
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