Ratrace unlimited.

Gridlock.
Their last attempt to find some shredded identity without dignity.
Their ego chariots jammed onto the cold morning tarmac
crisp early air befouled
with their pollutants
their black coffee
the stench of the office workers
petty pride
in pinstripe shirts
grey suits compliment their thoughtless existence in concrete office prisons.
Instincts beat into their feeble hearts
they cannot lead, so they follow
the shallow stream of materialism.


The dancing lights of emotionless cities
lying in wait to claim it's workers independence.
Clouded skies ablaze with fluorescent studded smog.
Cold steel eyes
trailing to their soulless lives
like keys without locks
no purpose.
dull constructions crumble with telephone wires and faxed type.
The same image of everyone caught in a rut of work, sleep, work, die.
seen through tainted glass reflections .

Another faceless worker
a deformed creation born of an urban mother
in the rat race masses
Sentenced to solitary in the success march.
Has finished his time in a prison
that doesn't need walls
it's all they can get when they're down and out
across the initiative front.
they call success, conformity,normality.

But he's not happy, with their hollow praise and patronising glances
at the awkward watercooler
board walk
meetings.
The torturous hours are yet to break his naive spirt.
Expecting from his little towerblock world, of ashen aspiration.
Wallowing in misery, swallowing more bitter black, if only he hadn't sold his soul
for a one bedroom apartment
in the city.