Carnal Frame

Somebody stepped inside the bars and surrendered to the edges. Skin rests against metal, the spine curves, the body fits. There is something almost tender in accepting a boundary that could not hold anyone who truly wanted to leave. The cage works because the body agrees to believe in it.

But then someone else found the bar inside that same cage and hung upside down from it. Same iron, same enclosure, opposite contract. The cage became a frame for inversion. Not a place to be held, but a structure to hold on to. The prisoner turned acrobat.

On the circle, the body surrenders to absence. No walls, no floor, no reference except the metal under your hands. The grip is the whole architecture.

Three ways to meet the same iron. Contain yourself. Invert yourself. Suspend yourself. The verb changes. The metal does not care.

Look again. There is no lock on any of these. There never was.