corporate research facility,
under the scan of covert
cameras. Security
greets you at the desk
where you divulge your
identity, sign in and sign
off your rights to
anything you may see
or think about anything
you see, your badge
clears you for certain
corridors and labs,
the complex systems lab
but not the human-centered
design interface compound,
the cognitive architecture
facility, but not the
mainframe endoskeleton,
when you step into
comprehensive risk
management an escort from
human resources shepherds
you to the relative safety
of stylistics, surface analysis,
where all of the desks and
drafting tables are draped
with sheets, as if the joint's
being moth-balled for the
season, or one of the
company geniuses is
making tents for some
fabulous glass-walled
executive sleepover!
Let's face it. You're no spy,
no undercover snoop,
no operations espionage
expert, you wouldn't know
a secret formula from
a secret recipe or a
secret phrase for $50
on Groucho Marx, is there
some classified code
buried behind that man's
furrowed brow? Is there
some cryptic truth
disguised in that woman's
crossed eyes, her cold
stare behind those cloak-
and-dagger hornrims?
There are scarlet A's
burning on everyone's
breasts, ulterior motives,
darker forces, you avert
your eyes, dare not get
caught gaping at anything,
his handsome carriage,
her bold calves, you're
just waiting for security
to retrieve you from
your proposed visit
which was, what?,
you no longer recall,
please, relieve us
of these badges, this
confidence, we're
breaching security even
now just thinking
about it.
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