I’m in an office, researching a project

I’m in an office, researching a project

about how projects can be effectively researched.
I have my stapler, a tape-dispenser,

& a phone with a “hold” button.
Somewhere, a drug transaction just went sour

& a bullet’s entering a teenager’s cerebellum;
somewhere a 7-year-old boy

has lost his fight with leukemia.
On my desk, I’ve got 53 pages of notes

regarding the usefulness of monthly periodicals.
My computer has 17 windows

all open simultaneously
& is desperately trying to recapture my attention.

On the rooftop, a SWAT team guns down
a disgruntled ex-employee

who sought redress
by kidnapping 2 of my coworkers. My stapler’s

out of staples, my adhesive tape’s running out,
& my country’s racing towards

another economic meltdown.
I’m writing about the efficacy of writing

& sending e-mails to other researchers,
who all collectively

research the efficacy
of sending out e-mails. My coworkers return,

splattered in blood & blabbering on about
the results of our inaction.

Their desks are covered
in numbered papers in sequential order.

We set ourselves apart from what goes wrong,
but the world filters in,

like how a dot in the sky
grows monstrous, then engulfs us in its flames.