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Oubliette

The Governmental junk drawer has no key,
It is full to the brim with half truths and sleeping pills.
All around Atlas’ keep people go to work,
They get up to alarms that do not wake them.
Their lives run on poison and distraction.
Long ago someone replaced the definition of Freedom in their dictionary,
They must have slept through it.
Inside their houses of cards,
Their compulsively collected items are paid more care than the occupants.
Dinner is a time of mute separation,
A beastly numbing in front of a televised list of future acquisitions.
Evening contentment is cast aside for the pursuits of tomorrow,
And their children are sung lullabies of success,
To the melody of jingling coins,
Unaware that they were born into captivity.

(2014)

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