When in the MRI machine

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“Existence is a technology like everything else, 
It can be broken and written down in an easier alphabet” 
sam sax

In the examination room where questions are asked
The police waives around its magnetic torchlight
And I open wide a wide pink mouth
Hoping they’ll find what’s eating me alive.
I lay flat in the loud machine and think of riots
Happening in Paris. My mother still
Lives in France but she will soon move
Closer to the fire. Scipio dreamed of two suns,
Cicero’s words were lost for centuries,
We got used to reading only the poetic part
Of the Republic. Bad politics will lead to bad debts,
One sided ethics will lead to long term stagnation.
Something clatters devoid of swing
And it revolves around my spine as it forms precise
Pictures of what happened to the lower vertebrae.
Very seldom have people examined my ass with
So much philanthropic regard. Objects are brought
Forward to my present hands at a low discount rate,
I fear I might still be around a hundred years from now.

Image credit : Unknown

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