The Cell

they change the sheets once a week the blue men pass in pairs matching cadence marking the hour staring into vacant eyes in four-square cells passing as if no one was there but if eyes could grasp there would be finger marks around pencil necks I only know what I can see between steel rods and wired glass aglow distorting figures like sides of beef hanging in a meat locker waiting to be drawn and quartered into 5 lb. slabs displayed in glass cases inspected by schlubs slavering at the mouth like ravenous dogs ready to rip into sinew and bone sparing no mercy or expense on trophies of the hunt we mind the hours silent and alone awaiting a call that never comes the bell signals curfew night commands the hour dreams begin their languorous pavane and sounds die into the night — o soul show me how to live before I die —