#12/10-31-2014

what sam built

II. just inside

eyes adjust to
fluorescent blindness
but bright blinded still
when hearing
carts crashing,
pounding metallic
within the big space, all
stone walls and floor.
being not alone, it’s
time to get going
says another’s
sharp jutting elbow.
take a cart.
get shoved into the
procession.
move your feet,
push the cart
with the rhythm of
the rest.

a vested official
monitors the line
of incoming.
his suspicious set of eyes
under wrinkled lids
notice. stare.
charge. condemn.
he watches every hand.
satisfied of his authority,
his old head then nods
to you as
his old lips curl
into empty mangled smile.
he acknowledges
new captives,
new victories,
new docile cattle.
he smiles wider,
excited
to see how far
this new lot will be pushed,
dehumanized,
tormented until
the whole lot
breaks.

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