This Poem Was Never Written
An illusion of a single cell-
by Barlot ...
Prison cells with doors you can't open
And amentities only spoken-
Justified with generic ink.
They tell me to think about their thoughts
But creativity can't be stolen
Nor bought for support of Bangladeshi labor.
If an American child is crying-they save her
But outside these troop boundaries
They'll say it doesn't matter-
'Matter cannot be created nor destroyed.
So if one is not employed by a US agency-
They don't matter, aren't matter
And can be destroyed overseas
As a way to pass my new policy.'
Well I'll be damned to write these words
Absurdity is blank as anything-
Blank as the bills in Congress
Blank as the list of heroes and heroins
And blank as my stare as I'm trying to comprehend-
Trying to understand why I'm here
And there but nowhere for certain
And somewhere behind a new Iron Curtain
Where thoughts are swept under an Aluminum rug
And decorated in fine Elemental decor
But once more...
A rearrangement will occur-
In the future of this fine brainwave,
This thought process that jump drives can't save.
Fleeting, fleeting memory
Defined by branches of Chemistry-
Organic, Theoretical, Physical, Fake!
Rape my mind with your textbooks
And drag me from the lake of all I've dropped-
Everything but the beat.
But now I sit in a hard plastic seat
With my legs folded to my chin-
The fetal position I acquire when I feel in defense of ideas.
I swear I get it-
They don't know.
22 days until I go
And arrive simultaneously.
The moment is a second, minute, hour
The moment is me.
I am the water Stalin drinks
This poem is blank.