All the dreams I had for other women
Are coming true for me, today:
Seated neatly against a white background,
Like a word printed for the first time
I experience Nothingness
and its peace, like the stale public air
in the back of a Crown Victoria,
or behind a locked aluminum door.
From snitched pulpit watching
Us all spin to self-wished
Future emblazoned
with complacent tongues of fire,
I wonder with anxious burden
What I have, in ignorance,
Pilfered in the high-viz night,
and the things which I
Cannot give back,
as It All is now a burnt emblem
of necessary shame.
It is an ongoing travesty—
