always an admirer
of critical thinking
man is still
a slave
to his senses:
he is slave
to the cook flipping burgers
in the fast food joint down the street
he is slave
to his boss-calling-cellphone
after-hours
deaf-tone ringing between his ears
during shower
dinner
sleep
he is slave
to his lover
who reels him to bed
after long work
or
on sleepy weekends
sleepless always
performing duty of love
and lust
tasting magnum lips
that clamp hard on his
making pink purple buff skin peels
washed down by whiskey
in a moment’s aloneness
he is slave
to the glass
the pitcher
the keg
the bottle
the shot
the trigger
the expanding bullet
in his heart
clogging veins and arteries
drying out brain
functions
man is slave
to his senses
it’s always been
in the books
and out there
in the wild
the critical thinkers
have accepted it
forfeited their thoughts
to it
and the rest
still think
they can get out
alive
