for Antonin Artaud

the dead skin sloughed off Institutions
something to record our cryptic Solutions
promissory notes passed on but never Paid
from trees that we made into Lampshades
for the illumination of our deepest Fears
and desires really the same thing Fueling
our fires and schooling the liars we Hire
to print more currency from the flayed Hides
of our own strip-mined lungs so we can See
ourselves in this written mirror Instead
of breathing in the air paper is an Excuse
we use to justify the ending of our Lives
and to marginalize our state of being Alive

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