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