Dead End

So—there’s no way out, doctor?

There has to be a way.

Don’t feed me fancy talk,

don’t slap the cuffs on me either.

Speak plainly—no lies.

Justice loves money

the way rats love corn

and bees love honey.

Take these shackles off me,

save my neck.

I can’t end up behind bars

living through infernal days.

Prometheus—no complaints—

but I’m trapped,

chained to the Caucasus

ad infinitum,

eagles

tearing at my entrails

for centuries.

An oracle once declared:

easy it will be to enter the bars,

hard it will be to leave.

I don’t want that fate for myself.

I refuse to accept it

and die.

Wake up, doctor.

Find me a way out.