The Jail Bird

My room has been my prison cell many a day lying, sitting, sweating, crying it takes me at every turn alone, unkept a pig stay with no pigs not eve a sound except keys and cans echoing across 4 corners my sad little prison my dog, the guard her collar jingles like the tempo of a baton across spaced Iron, grinning like terrible teeth in the night the door is closed and I sit, looking for any exit the window? to far, the knob? to much work I lay, I sleep, at, type this poem Repeat, the cycle of the prison