Nails on wheels.
Elite-level servitude.
And if anyone thinks this is funny—
let them try to build an empire themselves,
where nails move on their own,
and you stand
in the spotlight of glory,
and say:
“I’ll fire you all if it’s not beautiful.”
And if someday you hear a soft tapping on the tiles…
don’t be afraid.
It’s just her nails
rolling out on duty again.
On black little wheels.
With tiny little hands. Legend has it,
that during one particularly critical performance,
where questions of borders, alliances, and compromises were at stake,
one of the servants rolled out from under the table,
and his tiny hand carefully guided the Diva’s heel
exactly where the emphasis needed to be placed.
In speech. In decision. In geopolitics.
