Another day, another sonnet... (Sonnet #2)

Like eyes they stare at me--twin monitors;

the airconditioner humming in my head

and all around the building's droning roar

echoes the respiration of the dead.

Through halls the people go and come and go

treading the clock, waiting the endless wait.

And if they talked of Michaelangelo

or Eliot, or Tennyson, or Yeats...

But no.  Days have no structure; software is a bore

and boredom is a solitary place.

I am lonely here without you--and so the lure

of words and pictures draws me into space

more real, somehow, than the chair in which I sit

regaling the keyboard with my shallow wit.