Solitary Confinement
I'm concerned now
with only solitary things
the stinging course
of an unwiped tear
and a small blonde curl
wrapped in plastic
never lengthening
a fleeting smile
forced from cheek's hollow
its laughter drowned in a meandering brook
that doesn't babble
just drifts aimlessly
to where a leafless tree seems
to haplessly scrape its bank
in unwelcome companionship
I find I prefer the dead blue of skies
to the changeling grey
where too many shadows wait
for aching recognition
and I know I'll never sleep again at night
because I can't censure with my eyes closed
nor control my emotion's line of sight...
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