At A Loss Poem by Birgit Bunzel Linder

Your army of arguments lines up straight
in battalions of tightened syntactics
equipped with weapons of mass semantics
and remaining at staunch attention

until you give the command
to attack without grammatical rules
and to throw all available expletives
into the battlefield of dialectics

If me doesn't defend myself
It's not the fight's no worth
But my ammunition was left,
And no allies to speak of.

I can only wave the white flag
I lift my hands above my head
I surrender my last words at the gate
And turn myself in-to the prison of silence.