Green light
And I can’t move,
Asphyxiated by fear
I’m hardly breathing.
The glint of the street light
Reflects off a basement window.
The signs say, One Way
And Do Not Enter.
Red light,
Breathe and let go.
The headlights shine into hazy dusk.
Turn signals flashing
I’m not going,
Green light

in jail they slip your
food under the door
and the gaurds only
walk around as many times
as they absolutely have to
and
i lie on the floor,
points of pressure failing
to pad the solid concrete
that is my bed.
keith has a wife,
he’s lying next to me
because he beat in
her ex’s door because
he was keeping her kids
and they called “breaking
and
entering”;
tony is from detroit and
got caught driving without
a license and all of his
people left him here,
he tells me about his
cars
and
females
and
houses
and how they caught him slipping
caught him slipping and
he shouldn’t even be stayin’
here for no three hunnid dollas

god,
aint this some bullshit?
this phone only calls who it
wishes,
this cell sits harder than
all of humanity…
lets no light in
lets no one leave,
lets no statements
be made of it or on it
except for “help me!!!”
which tony wrote on his
concrete bed with the pen
that i stole from the clerk
that we also made playing cards
out of with our pieces of
papers given to us by the
man;
these papers containing important
information about the number
of dollars we are to give
to the man for our offenses
against public safety.

Despise
is such a strong word
yet I like it in this instance
no, I love it in this instance
as you’ve created for yourself
an enemy, and I insist
that if you make one more mistake
you’ll make a meeting with my fists

so please be wary
as I despise you
very much

if i sit here another minute,
i very well might explode,
littering the surrounding computers
with little bits and pieces
of what was once me:
brain matter, bones,
flesh and blood,
and of course fecal matter,
coating the ground
and hopefully making it to the ceiling,
that i might rain down my essence
on friend and foe alike,
bestowing a final blessing
on all these other working stiffs.

there’s something simply perfect
about the cold kiss of cut blades of grass
on bare but caloused feet
around a country fire ring
in the middle of the night

How it cuts,
but doesn’t cut you;
how it chills you just enough
so you remember just exactly
how alive you felt that morning
when the sun rose up above your bed
and ice cold water sprayed down
like a demon from the shower-head
incititing,
nay,
demanding,
that you rise.

You didn’t like it then,
and you’re not quite fond right now,
but you must admit,
the main effect was
perfect.