There was an army of ants in the plastic plants
So I poured light through a magnifying glass
And I created a fire on the artificial grass

They scurried and hurried
with flames on their backs
Like soldiers on a hopeless plain,
searching for invisible barracks

And I sighed as they died,
because we are all the same:
Scurrying and hurrying from invisible pain

I have become a mirror. Reflecting the smiles
of others. No thought is my own. Only a mesh
of arms that helped me up or held me down.
Essays traded for certificates. All science or
established old philosophies. I pilfer inner peace
from the Buddhists. I map my memories by
the names of streets. I eat my food from the
production lines. Maybe I should invent my
own language. Maybe then I will say things
differently. I will only draw in the dirt. Avoid
the arrogance of permanence. I would only
lose out to the weeds and meteorites in any case.
It has been two decades of a borrowed self.
Whatever was mine has been stolen long ago.