if i am free,
i do not choose.

i let the chimp's hand,
still raised in a forgotten threat,
unclench.
fingers become just fingers,
holding nothing,
needing nothing.

if i am free,
i do not build.

i let the silverback's dream,
that heavy crown of want,
dissolve like mist off old wood.
the harem was a story;
i stop telling it.

if i am free,
i do not correct.

i let the bonobo's kiss
be just a touch,
not a strategy for peace.
the politics of grooming ends.
the field of relation goes fallow.

if i am free,
i know the imperative,
and so i disobey.

i un-know the known.
i un-hold the held.
the raw thing ceases to be raw,
it becomes simply thing.

if i am free,
i am not even i.

the apparatus of interest
turns its light upon itself
and, finding no bottom,
smiles a smile that has no mouth,
and goes out.

the ultimate freedom is not to act.
it is to de-create.
to gently refuse the first word,
and return to the silence
that never needed to be broken.