120
Schrödinger’s
Cat
She
is
releasing
a
poem
from
a
pen
that
she
claims
will
not
write
In
an
Indian
restaurant
2000
miles
away
And
I
am
sitting
in
Texas
Like
Schrödinger’s
cat
With
razor-‐wire
and
shot
guns
and
a
beaker
of
State-‐issued
cyanide
on
its
way
to
the
floor
Waiting
Waiting
for
the
future
to
offer
Another
chance
at
the
past
Truth
has
become
a
label
For
popular
approval
Binary
gravity
crushes
everyone,
if
we
are
worthy
at
all
Would
what
has
already
been,
exist
If
I
were
not
recalling
it
now?
If
you
were
not
looking
past
the
regret
In
the
lines
around
my
eyes?
She
knows
best,
a
shadow
me,
Constructed
from
yesterday's
tomorrows
and
dreams
Maybe,
she's
already
opened
that
door
Seen
my
small
feline
body
expired
on
the
floor
Or
maybe
I'm
still
there,
pawing
at
the
latch
Ready
to
claw
and
spit
and
scratch
like
Schrodinger's
cat