Compress and copy your best.(fuel)

Give me a tonne of your ideas.
I´ll create a masterpiece that phantoms will deliver before samhain.
I´ll take your best and nail it plaigerising, rising off the rhymes I thought were nice.
Compact them in my copy brain, my impact mind- a vice.
Produce some fine coated fece floating in the midst of these lost ideas we call poems.
Floating and sinking with the rest of some heart´s spark or shadow.
Then being picked up sometime in the future and used to power some alien vehicle.