Captivity

Ron Koppelberger

Captivity

He became aware of the lukewarm furrows of chattering breech in the stone arcade by the advance of shadow and chambered envelope. The sunrise announcement was an essential eye and it fostered the wonder of the arched totem. Cockroaches, incredible in simple matters of disposition, perfectly satisfied with the performance of inherited engagement. They filled the porous walls of the arcade with a lodger secret and a surreptitious sound, a passion, a harmony of lullaby autonomy.
He feigned sleep with slited eyes and precarious constructions of barterd awareness. A penetrating ray of light shone through the empty alliance of lonely shallow sorcery, clean and warm in mountain ascent and amber grain, in saffron and gold, in waves of wheat bloom. The chains lay cold in dispute with the dream and the garden called in destined climates of portent and storm. The cockroaches respecting the will of ebb-tide watched and waited.
The man found evidence of harvested revolution as he discouraged his exile to the arcade. In settled designs of sensation he assumed the contented flow of saffron and wellspring invocation, for reason and the future of the world, the quest for a place unto the respite of captivity and slavery.