my throne be,
In a cubicle, utilizing this desktop
computer watching, me
time, zips past,
like a racing car
jammed, fingers
rush through, the traffic of these words
driving the clock, killing time
running between, the intersection 
of these alphabets, crashing these keys
jammed, on the pavement 
microsoft busy, fast pacing
supposed, to be looking for a job
... supposed to be looking, for a job
but writing, is what eye do
the gigs are somewhere, they got the money
their pockets are plenty
... eye just want to ease their pane.