Cubicle

The news absonded all

Past dually marked

Of what you wanted done

January's been long

He walked around his stuff

As she's been so

The manager speaks of him

Twenty five years down

There's nothing there at all

The biggest things are always small

It doesn't matter at all

The emptiness on his face

Now you've put wrong

The simple moments of

Tempering the night

Stand around my seething

On what's involved

From arguments left out

Can't you hear the call?