His voice echoes from our office

in waves a despondent surfer

sick of seeing unsuitably

sized peaks of sound on his skyline:

the ocean of his creation.

His voice echoes from our office

alongside sighs of excited teacups

awaiting the artificial rapture

enforced for the sake of art,

creating the perfect teatime reverberation.

His voice echoes from the office

on the hour every hour.

Stretching arranging the voices of strangers

‘til the alarm strains to make its noises known.

Longingly finally sinking into the silence

shattered only by sleepless snores

and muffled dreams.