The Jailer

by David Andrés Alíx

A thorn you bear, the same as me condemned to a cell three meters squared separated silently By an entire galaxy

You linger and grope with the letters in the vestibule of your mouth knowing they must not be allowed To form the words of the inquiry

You have concluded intelligently that it would be a dead work to float the frequencies through your teeth It is better to exit immediately

Gradually our captor will widen, heighten, and lengthen our cages incrementally until the carbon steel edges touch delicately

We then able to demonstrate our everlasting injury Silently, ambiguously, unchanged and unfree