This poem contains no statistics
No economic forecasts
No rap lyrics
No chances to win $1 million dollars
No ads for expensive handbags
No variations on “fuck”
No celebrities buying unequal justice
No politicians speaking for the American people
No bodies lying in pools of blood
No pictures of adorable pets
No nutritional facts
No new phone apps
No advice you didn’t want anyway
No personal affirmations
No biased journalism
No online romancing
No gay porn
No young black men in hoodies
No smart answers
No half-price tango lessons
No R-rated film trailers
No anime nymphettes
No gated communities
No menu items that take 7 words to describe
No chiseled underwear models
No sitcoms with laugh tracks
No postmodern jargon
No Paris runway shows
No morbidly obese housewives in tank tops
No silver linings
No ab-ex paintings
No brutally honest personal revelations
No anti-abortion rallies
No crooked cops with big bellies
No dickheads
No zombies giving directions to the apocalypse
No helpless maidens
No expensive window treatments
No eyelid rejuvenations
No bungy-cord weddings
No false expectations
No advanced degrees
No means of escape
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