contumax

we have been so good at this —
the lining up, the nodding, the learning
to call the cage a living room.
they said sign here
and we signed.
they said this is the water now
and we drank.
they said your silence is appreciated
and we appreciated it too,
folded it into something
we could pass down.

I’ve been reading the fine print
on everything they hand us —
the terms of service for breathing,
the privacy policy of grief.
somewhere a man in a building
we will never enter
is deciding what we deserve
and the answer is always
a little less than last time.

we’re waiting for them
to hand us cigarettes and blindfolds,
and the worst of it,
the part that keeps me
awake past any reasonable hour —
we’ll thank them for it.
we’ll say at least they gave us something.

but I’m done
rehearsing the execution.
I’ve seen what they’re building
with the lumber of our compliance,
and it isn’t shelter.
there is a word for what we are
when we stop asking permission
to be ungovernable — When the hesitation becomes the revolution
I’m trying to remember it.
I think it starts
with no