Days like these, I believe in the Devil,
and by proxy, Hell.

I listened primly 
to their stenciled offensives,
a cleansing required — 
a meeting about meetings.

Cubicles of thought, framed.
Screensavers on; out trays empty.

Let me watch, instead, 
your gentle coercion.
A slide, a show, your point,
your power presentation.

Tear us from these dry books
of wretched indecision.
File me into a sliver, a crack,
a heaven’s niche;
a confidential notation.

I can toil for you 
in my white silk blouse…
But want me for more than my mind,
my head, my mouth.