Rabbit Out Of A Hat

A hundred years ago it haunted
him like any image of a maniac
was likely too. Squirming on the floor
wrapped so both his arms were in a cross
across his body.
Handcuffs were nothing now
they fell off his wrists like an envelope
torn from a letter not meant to be seen.
The water in the tank for him
was always clean as well as fire axes
sharp enough to save him
if the pad locks were too much,
but never were.
Vaudeville trained to never be contained
or give into any pain put in between him
and the freedom he was searching for.
Practice was his worship of escaping
all the chains they could devise.
Now there were people’s eyes
distracted from the clearer skies
and drawn in to this shadow
connected only to a bridge
with just a chain.
It was insane that it could go that far
falling but not falling, held together
like a lunatic by a garment
meant to keep each other down.
While in the water he would witness
all the sunlight break the surface
mixing into all the darkness
of the depths, but they had no control
where he was headed next.
Back up to see their broken faces
so inspired by the notion
that there was always a way out
if you could find it.

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