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I am breaking the broken wheels underneath
the crackling backs and in my arms are housed the Prisoners.
In my arms are housed the Prisoners.

I am full of penalties.
In my arms, I hold the prisoners and all their cells.
In my neck, the torture devices, long and slender
Most of them fit but some are too boxy and Bulge.

My trunk is a collection of hooks and arrows and extra pieces
without defined uses but dangerous things
Things that should be in here if just to make sure.

My stomach is bruising with an infantry.

My legs each, are two thick books, archives unbound and tied with yarn. In the right is a treatise on punishment, a dictionary of forcibly removed fluids, and underneath a history, details and sets, of names and of acts and crimes. In the left is an index, to compare with all other books, of codes, lists of all those things that have sent us terrified under the skirt of the law. On top of that is Anatomy, without the words we have enough of, only images and pictures, of bones and where they break and ligaments and close ups of nerve endings and the parts of muscles that hurt when you cut them and the parts that don't.

I am a repositor. A full account was called for.

In my shoulders for example I have motions, shoving and spinning, kicks, grabs, and my hair is stuffed with the rules for children's fights.

More than anything, I am a repositor. Let me be understood, this is what was called for. A full account. A responsibility that I took and it hurts. In my joints, I have my own pains, and in my shifting organs, and in my spirit I have weights that weren't initially accounted for.

But I am not complaining. I am a repositor.
I am the full account.