Congress by Scott Owens

In a room made of alabaster walls
set round with a hundred distinguished chairs
and the random exhalation of nothing,
the men argue the future of heads.

The men argue for random nothings,
petty pet projects, alabaster pretensions,
set round with a hundred strutting chairs,
oblivious to the future of heads.

Walled in with random pet projects
of alabaster distinguished men,
the future of heads exhales nothing
in a room set round with unmoving chairs.

The future of alabaster walls crumbles,
distinguished chairs collapse beneath
the weight of a hundred unmoving men.
What remains is less than nothing.

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One Response to “Congress by Scott Owens”

  1. Hey Scott, I see what you mean. We must have been on the same wave length. Good one.

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