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Inside/outside
much company in a little room
an old man sat boasting
how he had been in prison
and there was a field
with four horses
and the light of evening
Gedichten over het onderwerp: prison
Gedichten over het onderwerp “prison” op Poets.by.
Artisanal death
a death made
of dirt and prison stone
made from hour to hour
till it was midnight
made drunk
made of work
like a heavy-headed ox
whole but odd
Ex-convict
now nothing
but the print of a wing
where prison wounded him
no opportunity yet
to flee in the night
the night that was the state
Prison guard
hear him speak of release
the prison guard
an epicure of secrets
an unsafe door
a messenger from their last
day in the world
Warden
robins going
out of the prison
I eat a late supper
Prison food
prisoners forced to eat skin
and monstrous fat
kiss the flung stone
raw as their opinions of sin
of a fancy woman
of more sleep
On retreat
Serpents in waste places
feed on larks, they say.
Fiddlers go up
and down the fields
in my mind. How to put
things to order in
this prison for ill words?
I shall scour it.
Prisoner
This grave or prison, the heart—
who could remember
what it was like to be released?
I went with a bottle or two
hunting for friends.
This Is Not Love
we listened to sad love songs
wrote miles of forbidden romances
prayed to have our heart broken by you-know-who
because we were told to think
tragedy is beautiful
then it happened
and you romanticized
bullets flying through the air
slit wrists
losing your mind
raw throats
piles of laundry
life willingly spent in a prison of aluminum foil
for the ones you loved
but i learned that tragedy?
tragedy sucks ass
Solitary Confinement
Cold and dark,
Surrounded by silence,
My eyes wander,
Heart’s pounding,
A whisper in the distance,
My ears perk,
Desperate for a sound,
For an interaction,
My eyes close tightly,
Concentrating on nothing,
Hoping for signs of life,
Hoping for something,
The whisper begins to fade,
As my mouth shuts,
No longer feeling the need to speak,
To deny myself of reality,
The Shoe
It is very late.
I must be disturbing everyone
with my typing.
A shoe
comes in the window.
A nice shoe.
It seems to be
smiling at me.
I'll keep it.
When do I fall asleep?
Now the police come.
I am accused of disturbing
the peace. Neighbors
stand in the door.
I get the shoe.
Holding it
Brownsville Jail-- Mar. 12, 1952
The empty steel bunk
above me
has many holes
drilled in it
Through which the
ceiling is sky
Scratched pornography
for stars
Sweet
incredibly innocent
star bodies
The position of the hands
the give away
of love