Debtor’s Prison, give me your worst.
What if I can’t take the sounds
of pigs when they’re corralled for
slaughter—or what if
I’m a pig and those sounds are
my own? What if it feels
just like it should, and what if I don’t
want this middle-class life?
Prolegoise, let’s give it a name—
Blue collar roots in a white collar game,
the slaughterhouse not a slaughter-
house but pre-planned cul de sacs
and my skin is crawling. My skin is crawl-ing.
I don’t want blue collar or white collar
but no collar, flesh collar,
free, damn you,
just free.
II.
I was born a thousand years ago.
III.
We all knew they were lying when
told us not to draw on the walls
with blue crayon,
and so over time being repeatedly
taught to stay in the lines we
forgot that we don’t have to.
At least
sometimes.
Everything in moderation,
including rules.
IV.
There is freedom, true freedom, when
cause and effect have no effect
and have no cause.
V.
Can the wisest wiseman in
the village be so foolish?
Turn the television channel off,
the village be so foolish?
Turn the television channel off,
Turn the Godchannel on.
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