(20 minute poetry)

Railroaded,
I'm being fast tracked,
loaded in
fired out,
stacked like a tower of dominoes
and I don't know what anything's about.

'Is it 'cause I'm' working class?

The background check wrecks any chance for me,
I see a future through the looking glass through which I
the double blank cannot pass,
what passes for justice is just this and just this is nothing at all.

On the railroad track when treated, observed in and deleted from memory there's a part of me remains in the looking glass, looking back.

I suffer and fall
while the crystal ball
tells me nothing.

In this end where no end is in sight
I light several candles
say a few prayers for the dead,
Hoping that someone out there in the vacuum will hear me.