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June 29, 2012
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how you looped me up

the way you did with

what i thought was a rope too thin-

clueless bout your brick-laced whip

and sh** your hands- what iron grip!

but who am i to speak? no i recall

all tension sweet fruit could not withdraw

and saddle sores sinking deep inches into skin,

your bum sore and my back broken.

“arbeit macht frei” you say

but me, still looped up quietly,

think abandoned post on a short,

short leash,

am destined to neigh for company-

why? is one sh**ty mystery.

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