The little girl in the pool next door
is shouting, “Leave my brother alone.”
Everyone knows it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,
but we’re choking on all this light.
Love is a subject
glorified by apparitions
by lengthly ghosts passer-bye’s
good-bye hosts. Love was not
Cohen’s victory march, rather
On the slow rise
your words are as
knives or butterflies.
Still sleeping in a
daydream, a walk-about
Trail of replicas to my
I’m an inmate,
Of location and mind,
I can’t escape,
Can’t break out of either,
I’m a prisoner of myself.
And though I despise my cell and keeper,
I fear running from them,
I’m an institutionalized man now,
All I know is my prison routine,
The rusted and invisible chains chafe,
But are familiar,
Who’d care to even pick the locks?
Actually, I’m not even a prisoner,
Prisioners socialize with their own,
And send post to their friends and admirers on the outside,
They have regular socialization,
Could I even compare to that?
I’m more an animal in a self made zoo,
Strutting about in a manner,
That gives amusement for a while,
A cheap laptop is that thick glass wall that lets them see me,
Lets them watch a while,
But then get bored and move on,
I’m a spectacle to grow bored of,
I’m no better than Koko,
And if I’m that damned gorilla,
These scribblings of mine are just feces smeared on that glass wall,
In a pretty pattern.
Inmate or gorilla,
It doesn’t matter at all,
I spend my days pining for my freedom,
Knowing damn well I’d never let myself leave.