December 20, 2020

Prison Dreams

 (c) 2003


In these dreams I am not sure
if you are the prison guard
or the prison itself.
 
There are no locks. Hell!
There are not even doors
and the broken glass and debris
are easily enough stepped over.
 
I huddle in the piss drenched corner
clutching someone else’s child to my side,
the light outside is too good to be true.
 
You are as familiar to me as the stench of my own shit.
Who else would I turn to?  


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