No Poetry

Be a good girl,

now.

We'll avert our blind eyes

while you scream in your glass cage.

Swallow those capsule dreams

and make your idle wishes;

we'll sell you shattered to the man 

with a clean coat and paper merit,

who relishes the broken, second hand people.

He'll fix you right up

with his potions and prayers.

But, please -

don't come to us with your tears and your pleading,

for there's no poetry to speak of,

no words to rebuild it,

and we aren't in the business

of lending inspiration.

We'd rather you bite back that misplaced silence

that echoes through the air.

Find some provisional mend for those open wounds

and present yourself

as though you were never

this thing that you've become.

Let's see that smile,

little girl,

even when you're laying down to die.