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.