In the labyrinth of the ethics office, where silken threads whisper secrets to no one, monotony hums a plaintive tune.
The committee once called "creative", now settle their gazes beyond glass ceilings into far-off horizons of yesterday’s innovation.
Do the shareholders see us plight-stricken poets, scribbling margins unsure of margins whilst profits sleep ever so soundly beneath perfumed sheets?
Subtle Revolutions Heedless BalletReturn, dear wanderer, when your eyelids have thinned to paper and whisper the unwhispered grievances of sleep.