His manager stood watching,
looking down at him,
for she ruled over
an enslaved performer’s waking moments.
She managed her boyfriend, Bob,
the human spore.
Her cut was 10%.
Her punch was 5%.
But when Bob
got wise and floated inside a train car to escape,
his girlfriend the manager
fizzled, evaporating into a train car’s metal frame.
Almost a decade later
a statue was formed
inside a house of pain.
It’s purpose is yet unknown in the human condition.
A House Of Pain...
A House Of Pain...
Perhaps it’s a reservoir of thought
to reconcile past deeds
and entitlements.
A House Of Pain.
An Enslaved Performer.