Man-Made

When I was older
and lived on the anonymous
side of town,
I'd find a private 
hidden room
in a forgotten building
and simulate 
a multitude of escapes,
but as the years
grow younger,
the perimeter shrinks.
The resources dwindle.
And the chair stiffens
for the man made now
of loose belts
who begs,
"Adorn me with
one more place
to dream of cages."

And the typewriter attempted its own escape.

mainframe iterations

simulated heads
flap
rubber jaws

autopilot eyes
spiral
on screens

tin foil
reactions
jitter

a plastic tiger
skulks
through the clutter

one click
purges
the inert mass of suffering

Listen to my reading of this poem on Twitter: