Corporate Dungeon

As the smelly 1950's floor smothered my pace,
I could see the sun-belt illusion of L.A.
Arizona would have been more apropos
In the belly of the corporate dungeon.

The 8 AM elevator scene is final
It needs no analogy of materialism
Or any Jungian wise-man symbol,
For the corporate elevator is just that,
A platonic thought,
An irrational hypotenuse.

If revolution was an option for poetic cowards,
I would block these freeways,
The blood of the huge glass castles
That thrust into the California sky,
Earning symbols for the coupon clippers,
Pointed results on the degree of exploitation,
Like the brainwashing of Television
That waits for no commercial.

There should be a communist in every skyscraper,
To witness the thousands trod to work,
Buying cigarettes in the lobby.
We need that opposite.
It would refreshen,
Like the loosening of a tie
Around, Around,
My mushroom neck.