Mothdust: excerpt from the New World.

[Raz]

Each day, Johnny goes to work.
_________________greets his fellows.
_________________smiles the right way.
_________________takes his familiar place in the lacuna that is meant for him.

In his slavespace, Johnny sells away the dust that gave him air.
_________________________makes himself groundbound.
_________________________doesn't sweat the details of his ensnarement.
_________________________knows this riddle he can't bend.
_________________________builds his mindtraps with every keystroke.
_________________________________________________each numbed signature.

_________________________snatches light; a curious glance to the frosted outside.
_______________________________________sometimes only.
_______________________________________not often.

Outside, they are anchored; like him.
__________________________ but wandering.
__________________________ wondering; where did all this dust come from?
_____________________________________ why is the sky so violent?
_____________________________________ when will this end?
_____________________________________ one hundred million clay soldiers.
_____________________________________ marching to nowhere.
______________________________________feet bruised and scratched.
______________________________________tender.
______________________________________dirty.
______________________________________lost.

Inside, Johnny shakes his head.
______________pities them their freedom.
______________has never been lost.
______________goes to work.