Sunday, November 24, 2013

This was going somewhere but it left early

wind outside is picking up
heard in prison Friday it's gonna
be cold on Sunday, sure feels like
it, most time guards don't lie,
so I trust the intel just so I won't have
to open and window or door,
face the cruel natural world--luckily
there's four walls of radioactive concrete
surrounding me, playing the perfect defense,

I think maybe I'll read some
whitman and drink a glass of milk in
the droning light of the apartment space,
or I'll end up staring at numb letters on numb screens,
eh, either way milk'll go down smooth,
non-homogenized constant of my nightly
deliberations, they won't let me change
the spelling tho, they won't let me in on
what's really going on, what's wrong--
I don't have clearance for that,
it's made clear,

I listen to the leaves touching the balcony
giving themselves to the wind, there's no car
sounds, it's all drowned out, fuck--

I forgot what the last line was going to be,

I'll just fit it with a period and
call it a day.

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