They say the people who work there don't like it, the obtuse and the acute angles,
The irregular hallways and jutting windows, this is the replacement for the
Boxy WWII army-style architecture where I studied so many years ago,
Grey walls replaced by shiny metal surfaces and glossy displays of the latest in
Tech and science propelling us into the new world order
Where I hope to catch a glimpse of a twirling skirt and the sound of
Spanish guitars, feel the warmth of human connection in music,
Breathe in the humid air and sweet smell of mock orange,
Delight in the ridiculously gaudy blossoms of the foxglove
Luring us towards death, we refuse, ricocheting between the
Accelerating pace of artificial intelligence, and the places where
We only wish to rest amidst the blooms and paintings of the
Romantic era.
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