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I was born in the wrong
era, I spend far too long
in cubicles and windowless rooms.
Fateless and painless I sit afternoons.

Dreaming of a time when the cities were full
of artisans raising the tombs of their lords
and seafaring merchants were
filling their hulls with the spices of asia
while courtiers danced and painted their days.
Oh for those Rennaissance
days!

Here in my office they come and go
talking of Michelangelo.
And I see beyond the cubicle's walls
the cobbled streets of Florence sprawl.

Through force of will I leap from my chair
and slip into Venetian airs.

The walkways knot and choke with weeds
the kind that grow inside our dreams.
The Medici's are rotting in
their oranges.