In Reciprocity

sometimes change stumbles over itself. a clumsy dictator in the lingering aristocracy of want.

the threshold is too complacent. as our monsters destroy the locks.

sometimes we are free only because everything is lost.

the door is still wide open. because we're waiting for the bodies to be removed.

sometimes we are only small pieces. in a puzzle of consent. 

as we wonder which villains belong in our bed.  

sometimes the distance measures itself. because we've forgotten where we started from. 

wandering through the forest in our little red hoods. 

searching for just the right wolves.