POEM 13 Polished Till Dull (Pancho) I turned in a project to the teacher, That followed the model to the T. With only two comments about it. One that it was perfectly done, And second it was quiet. Every other project had noise, They spoke with energy. While my own had a single eye, An eye polished with Vyvanse Till it was dull. An eye that perceived all, And yet returned no light. With cups and pockets, With joints that could swivel. The tin man could perceive and hold, Allowing for plants to take root. He held seeds and dirt, With roots that bind, Hindering his free joints. His eye being all that is his own. In the crevasse of his chest. Like a fly trap that’s still, Holding onto everything. Only showing what’s captured, As achievements of its work. It’s work the only thing that’s cared. Wishing only to continue to watch. Please don't put me back on Prozac (Spud) Some days you will find The light spilling in. On days like these I sit In these s...