(Excerpt from Outcast)
i wait in a tiny pen i do not own
for organizers of men to shuffle me about
and sever ties that never were.
i peak over the partition wall
at the next pen and the next and the next
spread out in efficient denial of private thought —
an integrated herd
waiting and thinking and wiring my brain.
and home does not exist anymore.
and reflection does not exist anymore.
just doing what i already know
over and over again
so that i might live my branded mark.
oh the labyrinth of pens in a never ending sea
to be dismantled and reshuffled
for the sake of more efficient thought
that my specialization and those of others like me make possible.
a great man once said
in the future people will have multiple careers in a life time
and with each newborn skill, i and others are sold like cattle
at the auction barn
to be rebranded and retagged
with our familiar links severed
and our disorientation affirmed
never to know
never to reflect
only to be insignificantly enclosed
in a pen in a sea of predetermined thought.