Into the retrofit past – turn the corner. The voice in my head barks its selfless orders and the nylon leash gets a little shorter and I wonder who the invisible bondsman is. Over shoulder, checking to see if anyone is watching, waiting for the struggle that won’t come. Against the bonds of what I cannot do, what I cannot shows, what I cannot lose. And I know that I will remain shut in, because the metal door is locked from the inside. Its just me and myself against the world. Its just a flat out refusal. And so my superiority and privilege lies dashed to pieces on the cold, stone floor, mixed with the horrific runoff from what is no longer my freedom my violence my laziness my f..cked freedom mine. That freedom which so many love. The freedom I choose to pursue no more. And I see how perverse that freedom is. The fists
and blood money stay in my hip pockets. And I show that my hands aren’t inherently violent. And I realize how beautiful these Chinese handcuffs are.

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