Idle Hands, a new poem.

fluorescent bulbs feign sunlight, burning melanomas on pasty hands and moth-eaten suits. pupils dilate, hairs raise, the air conditioning hums a melancholy tune. incessant click, click, click. these idle hands make noises appeasing ears of leadership long deaf. emails whizz, whizz, whizz to unattended boxes. gossip and vitriol flood an instant message, spreading cancer through…