becomes a slave
There's a clock somewhere.
We can't hear it
Tolling remorse,
what sounds to us like mocking,
The steady cloaking of bells.
It could be as small
as a blue Post-It note
The way the instruction is given,
the empathy
All on one side
completely.
We all have needs. Some needs
are more important
To be fulfilled, at least, if morally
there's a curtain
That goes over like the skirt of terrified squid.
It is always the slave's fault.
There is no redemption.
As long as he serves
He is doomed.
