The panopticon encloses, consumes

a prisoner, working for time off

always cleaned up after supper

dragged the wet rags across the frozen shower floor

but those who refused to scrub grit

from the scuffled surface

remain inside

remorseless, crimeless

never wondering why

and never told

why scrape and toil when it does no good

why push when there

is

no

reward

for my escape i would ring the work

from my very bones

but for empty halls and

shreds of antiquated scraps

i will sit

and rot