He's got a stop to his fury –
Waiting for the blow to come down.
He's got a weight and he moves it –
Weighting with a weight in his hand.
Teeter, a shake, with a shiver –
A noticeable shake to the hands.
Could we strike up a bargain?
How much would you give just to give it an end?
He's drawn in the ruts of a circle,
Each minute he prays for the blow to come down.
How have we struck up this bargain?
How do we hold it, within and around?
There's nothing left him to bargain.
There's nothing left in him with which to conspire.
He's got a weight and it moves him.
Teeter on the edge of a wire.

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