Tacoma Center sixteen hundred suffer sleepless nights No phone calls home to families, no reading, no Miranda rights A second tier of prison, as if the first was not enough It seems a citizen's great promise is A place to stretch when they lock you up But either way, they are commodifying someone As if said someone ever could just fade away: The dreary endless days don't pa** like numbers on a page They sit in silence ‘til they rail against the irons of their cage In such a casual addition to supplies, to chains, to flows Tucked between logistics systems, a lock factory, a railroad As billboards picture families, reunited in their homes Buses carry “unnamed” inmates To unnamed jails, on unnamed roads It is a euphemistic package for apartheid A billion dollars earned in someone else's blood A manufactured answer to a xenophobic question How to monetize the labors lost from deportation trolls Hundred and twenty five dollars a bed Hundred and twenty five dollars a head And on weekends we gathered outside of the gates Just to read off the names of the dead I must say it's a strange sense of sedition Just to show the hopes we'd hold Contract the contradict contrition Of soulless states, of stateless souls Oh eugenic organs, how you beat, constrict and breathe Oh you magic markets do detain, defeat, deceive And on the edge of this gross city, your mixed metaphors conceive Remuneration, replication, yes, interminably