dedicated to jake cohen (who was going to jail when i wrote this)

 

the cars in this city
roll oblivious to the life source beneath the barb-wired heart,
chain link pulse...
where were we again?

jail, here, it ain't the bars but the boredom
the irradiating lights,
blissless light
on 24/7 with the death tube.

when free
I see nothing but men
walking the streets
with bloated aldi's bags
as all their worldly possessions
and small bones
strung round their necks.

when free
I see nothing but redemptionless redemption,
bob marley songs quoted thru grated metal,
the leaves too fall like metal children,
tough guys crumble with them,
and the way they talk shit and crescendo on the downslide,
yd almost think the empire had a chance of doing something similar.
almost.

this is a lot
to be free
when the world goes into deep slumber,
a non-blissfull hibernation.

jail ain't no skull-boned hairbrained endeavor,
it ain't no scenster joke either,
but a real thing,
and a sort of epitome,
of what?
i am doing the leg work for you here
you do the rest.

when free
the men all look like dead fish
and the women all look like
dead fish.
when free
and broke
riding a squeaking bike down avenues busting bustle with sports utility vehicles
and promethean buses closing in behind,
you got yr guts,
what passes for free these days,
yr poems,
and that's it.