Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Prisoner of Pavlov

I know for whom the bell tolls
for it often tolls for me
yet it is a different daily death it brings.

I go towards the chime
when the chime calls to me.
My saliva runs every time it rings.

I have relinquished so much power.
The power once inside of me
is diminished beneath the weight of so many things.

The million tiny deaths I die
each day must be dead to me
til deaf I become to their subtle sting.