rats in a cage

running forced watched they fill the passages of the maze

clicking fingers on nails scratching the white smooth floor

huge hands drench the terrored ears, pink and wet from running and running

scribbles on clipboards as the dead music, lifeless when it was made, sludges over teetering minds

starving and tortured they run and run

the clock gives the Answer, the Answer is true

the Answer tells them. It is faster.

It is better. It has to be

they tell themselves

The Answer soothes them

the answer is untrue.

the rats aren't learning

they are Escaping