doesn’t like lines,

but will stand in one

because those are the rules

and it thinks we need them.

It moves around like the ant,

performing its tasks without

question, often losing a feeler

or a leg during its foray into

service and reliability, neither

of which will be replaced.

Like the child who goes to

the store to pick up some bread

in order to ensure a smile from

its mother that will never be

loving enough, at night it crawls

down into its own heart and digs

down for a still and quiet enough

place to lick itself clean, where it

murmurs like a pigeon giving

itself away from inside the beak

of a tyrannical overlord.