A new desk is always a level playing feild.
Tediously assembled from out of a package,
Complete with the smell of
Mothballs and mouth watering
From a recently Widowed mistress.
It is where war is waged.
It is a solar system.
It is the next greatest monument,
In any room.
(Second only to the marvelous rug.)
But far above the
The desk can support the weight
Or the mass of any
To use it as
(To just barely reach a crooked picture.)
But best of all,
Is frequently a sight for a usually unseen spectacle.
Where the savage teeth of the written word,
Collaborate with the most stubborn of sciences,
While still managing to
With a multitude of mathematic coefficients.
Rivers of spilled white out
Can easily be mistaken for ancient cave-paintings,
(Or white blood, to the un-trained eye)
But the piles of leftover eraser shavings,
(Carefully swept by impatient hands)
Are quickly determined to be
Of an otherwise very authentic,