Thumbtack
Fettered to stationary slave drivers,
I was a young bull prodded
by the stinging, rusted tips
of your cheekbones.
I'm not worried.
Tomorrow I will escape.
I have found my avenue,
she's a far cry from you.
Words stitched together from
an addled haze
are nestled in a pouch
tucked below your face.
I'll just have to slip a hand
in there and take them back.
It's not clear what I'll gain,
but I'm sure of what you'll lack.
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