The receptionist is an exhibitionist,
strutting herself along her desk,
with a picturesque peacock dress
as entry cards buzz and staff pour in.
Loopy lifts bounce from level to level,
the stairs are a backwards escalator.
A thousand cokes and coffees later,
there's breakdancing on the kitchen floor.
Laptops crash in spectacular fashion,
with a firework feast for the powers-that-be,
who wave their waistcoats in ecstasy,
as slideshows explode with fun-fuelled passion.
The funky fire alarm relentlessly bleeps
with rave-like beats that crave vertigo.
But no-one leaves and no-one sleeps;
why should they? It's snoozeday tomorrow.
Saturday, 27 July 2019
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
London is a dancefloor
Village life is beautiful, the locals smile and say hello, regardless of whether they know your name or what it is you do. London seems ...
-
Like a switch unintentionally flicked, the clock of confusion quickly kicked in. The blank screen of death widened worldwide, the locking...
-
Nothing rhymes with orange, apparently. To the naked eye I find that strange, for on the screen there's quite a range. What about th...
-
Village life is beautiful, the locals smile and say hello, regardless of whether they know your name or what it is you do. London seems ...
-
You had an awful reputation when we first came into contact. but I had faith that you'd improve in time to sign our contract. ...
-
The eeriness of a minor chord, a strum of sadness; dark and moody. Black keys dominate heart rate and fear when terror and tension graduall...
-
We'll be the coolest couple, married on a cold, calculated date, looped in a palindromic calendar, to-and-fro at a robotic rate. ...
-
Turn me on and watch me gush, raise the pressure, feel the pleasure. Tender rubbing, there's no need to rush, so oscillate at your le...
-
Hindsight is life's lowlight, a joyless world of what-ifs, if-onlys and whys. You could have done this, you should have done that, ...
-
The kiss of contempt and the hiss of horror as I attempted to pay for my fruit and veg. Behind me whispers and middle class poses, ...
-
If you are a talking head on a music show, do it in a northern accent. It sounds more authentic that way. The doom, the bleakness of you...
