Subterranean Chords

Nine-fifteen and the camera's off,

fifteen squares and a fake-ass cough.

Yesterday: ticket. Today: ticket.

No blockers, next — I'm out,

I did it. Second guy got the same three lines,

third guy's reading from the second guy's.

Fourth one's muted, been muted a year,

we assume he's alive 'cause his light is clear.

I have no blockers

I have no blockers

Yesterday the ticket, today the ticket

I have no blockers

Somebody says they picked up my thing — same thing they said

last Tuesday morning.

Product's asking for an ETA on a scope that changed three times

today. Twenty-two minutes, fifteen heads,

that's five and a half hours dead.

Nothing decided, nothing resolved,

but the ritual's clean so the ritual holds.

And then somebody said it.

Out loud.

On the call.

"I have a blocker."

TAKE IT OFFLINE TAKE

IT OFFLINE TAKE IT OFFLINE TAKE IT OFFLINE

Nobody took it offline.

Nobody ever takes it offline.

"Offline" is a place we invented

to put the things we won't attend to.

He'll say it again tomorrow at nine.

Same square, same light,

same line. And we'll say the words like we always do

— yesterday, today, and nothing new.

Same time tomorrow.