| in the inevitable, i walk from sun up to sun down, my feet are shackled in manufactured paintings and erasable signatures from sun down to sun up, my steel plated head rests on limp, dead cotton the thin sheets, the wife�s shoulders, i cramp and cringe with necessity through our thin veil, i cannot see otherwise and i am forced out of/into my cage in the factory, i submit when my son asks me how i got my name, i wash my hands and close my eyes without answers. the grim march of his little shoes, the steep incline of a ramp, the silent rows of cubby desks, he waves from the key around his neck. in the bathroom, i fall i find myself in a synthetic celebration watching as survival instincts cause mass infanticide watching as business blues cause mass acres on the knees of a martyr i realize, through the isolation of their animated sarcophagus, throughout their thieving history, i am a man who has been robbed his root. |
| plow(man) |