A Poem about Screenshots

Upheavals erupt,

faster than change.


There are three known cops in my head,

Cops in my head.


The Cop of Time,

Grants freezing one of the two existential passions:

  1. Cringe or,
  2. Cling.


*Witch* does not always lead to 

a craft: 


She devotedly invests time,

in missing something someone,

As a ground of her research; 

From which she can study the material,

That casts time. 


Longing is,

The third debatable option,

1.5. Longing. 



She taps her shoulder, 


Undeniably convinced that,

If anything, 

It will be yet another,

worthwhile lesson.



Amid her investigation phase,

She deliberately forgets to remind herself that, 

There are perils to making good decisions,



Indifference thrown at the subject to hunger with,

Is followed by morally various consequences.


Sounds a bit like, 

Panic attack.

Shoulder tap.


To enjoy thinking of Time

as immaterial,


Makes T look funny,

And sound a bit like,








just above a lot of euros,

Something else written on its tag:

Handmade Fabrics.


The charity is rooted,

In the acceptance of T as such. 


Love time as it is,


Don’t judge it. 


Hello panic, 

My new friend. 

I have grown immune,

To your attack.


An archetype of a hot mold could be,

a remarkably frank babe (in a cosmopolitan context) who is,

Busy making monuments out of moments who is,

Found right on time which is,

The urgency between two exceptions which is, 

A crack to breathe in. 

To chillax in,

relax in.


You know what I mean and that is,

A human as a tool for extracting

The time’s immateriality. 


I thank you Maggie, 


for mentioning that time 

sometimes means

wishing for another now.


The Cop of Space,

Points fingers at the built patterns and somehow says that,

They don’t look so great.


Space cheerleaders,

Taking C,

To the A,

To the R,

To the E-xpecting everybody,

To care the same.

In the same way, I mean. 


But a safe dance 

Shrinks space.


The more it shrinks,

The more I spill.

No exaggeration. 


The Cop of Power’s Lines,

Wants to remove me,

From my context;

Also Wants me to,

not let him. For the lesson’s sake.


But I do.

I pretend to depend, 

Just to free me. 

Whatever, you know.


Power relations develop,

between two situations:

One pretty defined,

The other one open,

for limitations.


Last night we discussed the benefits

of the most visually attractive item on pontification display:

Full institutional inclusivity. 

There were a few. 


Diehard advocates of freedom,

On a quest to attract broader moral strategies.


The fruits of complete personal control,

User agency, 

Individual sovereignty,

Are not forbidden. Yet,


Most of the time, 

At the day’s end, 

Before the lamps go to sleep, 

the subject is left with no more than two

biopolitical options.


Maisa Imamovic