This fixed income is not enough to live on
in this country. Each child
is just a liability,
a painted tax.
The letter arrives in shreds,
Not to my surprise.
The envelope has lost its’ seal
and it’s obvious what is ours
is not a secret anymore.
The wires have tapped straight through to our brains,
performing the paranormal,
reading our every thought,
I wonder if they find our trivial gossip
worth the ears of the FBI.
I’m almost certain I’m the bomb,
ticking and exact.
I’m round as a zero,
but lacking a few decimal places.
Maybe they’ll come after me,
pilfer my house, family, and college tuition.
In the night now, I can only write by candle-light,
but the truth is, I can’t adapt
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