Poetry on the fly, is why
here on the corrlinks draft
on a flimsy raft
speed-drifting toward the white rapids
of zero
zero time
zero characters left
no more tru-credits
no more money on the books

Poetry on the sly, is why
so they don’t see
but they see all
and they laugh
at the hopelessness of it
in any case:
fool
spilling his verses

If they confiscate, they devastate
hot trash it all
words and thoughts
and people
hot trashed
this is how we
are
we are
draft versions
of an email
we are suspended in time
with time running out

verse/story/essay/rage afloat on the draft page
waiting for a printout
print it and it is solid
anyway as solid as paper paper boat paper plane
this is how it is
as the time slips away
the seconds
counting down to zero
on the fly
and rushing to get it right, to get to the
end

like prison you race toward nothing
you hang on the last
sentence
spellcorrect
readthrough
draft
what craft
this is just a game
to ease the pain

race to the end
and for what
for
what
I’m the same that came in
or not the same
playing the game
makes me no better
no fitter
the same as came in
is going out
and the time is
reaching zero
when there will be no time
no draft
no raft
no craft
just
zero.
Numberless.

2022