I wonder what free men look like…
hands off the horse reins
and palms rubbed in purposeless smiles
shoulders cracked breathing,
thighs at rest
and feet all light…
fingers off triggers,
and mouth in no hurry
to say the first word, to win the last fight
held, and touched, let out deep sighs,
hugged longer than just quick pats on the back
kissed properly on the eyes…
I don’t know what free men look like…
less trapped, in cavities of their ashen delights
no more blind,
no joy denied,
no more – a severed hand stuck in a perfect golden glove
clutching the world too tight
a man’s conquest is his imprisonment
his freedom his only pride…
