But it is the one
With two capital Bs,
Not the one
Buzzed by bees.
My fingers are unstained
But my heart is pained.
The brain is sprained, but
All I feel is preordained.
I am a documentarian,
But I have been thwarted
By a behemoth
Whose ears are deaf
To the most reasonable appeals.
The bits and bytes
That comprise
The moving image of poetry
Imprisoned on a server
Out west- a voice silenced
In perpetuity
By the click of a mouse.
Beaurocracy begins with
A capital "B".
This one stings
While sorrow sings
A sadness of loss,
Unnoticed,
Relatively speaking,
For the Rest of Time.
--
Sent from my mobile device
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