800 by Barbara Donne

I am not a silent poet

it’s not just
the hand paid to wield
but the faceless chain
of supply and demand
holding the whip hand
..
business as usual
presses oiled palms
hands over arms
implements
..
cruel and unusual
punishment
merely for words
sounds
marks on paper
the freed mind of a poet
..
no need to ask
whether the pen is mightier
even though
eight hundred
sucks out my air
 brings tears to my lashes
..

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