THE PHOTOCOPIER AT THE OFFICE WHERE I WORK

I was making photocopies at the photocopy

machine at the office where I work and

the fringe of an innocent bystander's hair

ended up getting photocopied.

Anything placed

in the photocopier's jaws

appears to be

given a blow job, even the side

of someone's head, even

a toenail. Even a person's privates.

Regardless of what's placed

inside. When something is placed

beneath the photocopier's lid, it is easy

to imagine the burgeoning simulacrum; 

but molten. It is easy to imagine the

photocopier sopping up soy sauce.

Magnetic hormones loosely orbit a central

tastebud. A mossy caduceus.

Antlers grown by a cybernetic tele-knoll,

extruding in larger quantities, renewable.

On paper, a wig manifests; its

thousand-year escape velocity is also fungal.

Colors boasting a lady's make-up's

magnificent hill hold. Tracks left in

direct sunlight.

The photocopier at the office

where I work is an upside-down, frizzy,

perhaps carbonated, lawnmower.

It can produce a severed piece of polystyrene.

A pavement, slightly acidified

by its urine, will be neatly

canned by this lawnmower.

It's not good for the ears.

It sounds a bit lecherous.

Like an hedonic hairdryer.

All my coworkers commiserate

in their varied ways, secretly at night,

when the halls are empty, with

the photocopier...

Other stuff falls out...

“So this must have fallen out also,”

my coworkers are forever muttering,

sometimes holding up a VHS tape.

Something inside the VHS tape

slides from side to side.

These objects can accommodate egg yolk.

Often, the contents have been

harvested from rat poison. But they

are still environmentally friendly because you

can't open or break the objects.

Their surrounding enamel quietly and

confidently idles.