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Maura Levine
5/16/2019

Inert

The silent, frozen landscape lies

just beyond these prison bars --

remote, dead, immutable, unholy,

under a half-wit moon.

And I -- bound and gagged

in bands of white cotton,

scarce breathing, without sleep

as the guard stalks the corridors

soundless, his keys muffled mercifully,

as many breathe in sleep all around.

I live by a sea of lost souls

in white metal cubicles,

a dormitory of the damned.

Every day the same, every night

la meme, marching lockstep

through misery, no choice but to

follow the pattern, the routine

of boredom and sameness, while

without

is life in all its withering.

See all poetry for Maura Levine #00901149