We Will Have Vanished

My supervisor slid,

his skin squeaking down,

past my plate glass window

forty floors above the ground.

And as he passed my desk,

eyes level with mine,

Asked me "how's the report coming?"

I reply, "just fine."

But I'm lying

But I'm lying

And we both know it

And we both know it

And can't escape it

It's Ancient...

My supervisor says,

"Let's backdate ourselves,

Let our stunned hands turn to dumb stone,

refinance ourselves."

And when the signed names glow, constellational

in a vine knot, luminescent underneath the cold...

the cold lamp of the old moon,

we will have vanished!

We will have vanished!

The current come undone

within such choked wholes,

unfinished.