Redundant Logic

The radiator gasps a breath of rust, While damp wool dries against the office stone. We count the motes of bureaucratic dust, And wait for orders from a silent phone. The tea is cold, the carbon-paper smears, A thousand keys all strike a single note. We archive all the city's quiet fears, And button up the collars of the coat. It is redundant! The gears are out of time! The iron clockwork stutters in the dark! The ink is blacker than the hidden crime— A tectonic rupture, leaving its mark! The five-year plan is folded like a wing, Inside a box that has no lock or key. We ignore the song the broken pulleys sing, To serve the phantom of the hierarchy. The square root of a shadow! The system cannot hold him— The master of the fall! The archive breathes a cold and dusty air, Where every name is typed in faded blue. We search for files that aren't even there, And fear the hole that logic's fallen through.