poetry critical

online poetry workshop

prison sketch

I’m bound with indigo irons,
peppered in ancient, ochre rust.
Asleep or awake,
every flamingo sunset vomits up another inky star rise and twilight,
its hues cobalt, lead, mercury;
white noise a drone
against the hum, clang, and clatter of locks, gates, and guards.
Locusts and chains.
They leave plague, infection, scars;
wide, deep, lasting:
a schism in the abyss in the bowels of salvation.
These are desert glaciers, silent bombs, virgin hookers, reasonable religions.
I claim this yoke,
plastered in the wet earth;
my likeness a morbid statue.
Whose years have extinguished all the fires of the heart:
Bring them to this valley of victims, this canyon of crooks.
Bring them to their criminal education,
I am the resident intellectual,
drunk on Stockholm Syndrome;
comedian, local celebrity.
I am the yardstick against which all else is measured:
A novel record; endless lies.

28 Mar 16

(define the words in this poem)

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