Jailbirds
here
are those
whose bones inhabit clothes
and muscles feed on flesh
except for mine —
here in concrete and florescent light
between closing walls and slamming locks
where the doors bear names
and all things soft and sensuous
are excluded
and nourishment so circumscribed
it’s turned to medicine
and even sleep is rationed
and even the sun shines just
one hour per day
men here
some with hearts of porphyry
but more with hearts all made of bruises
and men whose hearts beat scherzo time
to mock the waltzing world
men more varied
than all the work-day men
who stumbled into power’s ken
and there must bide
sharing time to kill their numbers
where solo time is hard —
here
in jail
serving to remind the rest
that freedom’s theirs who use it less
Copyright © Christopher Magill | Year Posted 2015
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