Month: June 2014

Imaginary Prison

I’m trapped and I can’t get out.
The chains of my bondage
Have shattered my soul.
A grey mass of filth
And putridity, a nest of squirming maggots, tumbles
Recklessly from my chin.
Patches from ancient trousers, cursed by the sin of their former wearers,
Protects my legs from the ravishings of
The disease-laden drafts,
Malaria-infested rain-which through
Slits in the mortar and stone of my
Cell seep-and
The rodents, with their devil-may-care
My flesh devours itself as
My bowl full of maggots-with soup
Mixed in-is tossed out the
The Window.
There is a Window,
A taunting, cruel-hearted Window,
Which chuckles as a ray of warmth
Slips between the blockade of its iron sentries, here
A second, then lost forever as my
Eyes lap it up like hostages
Marooned on a desert isle.
They say Freedom doesn’t exist-the bastards!
You know what Freedom is-it’s the
Carrot dangling on a pole before the horses,
Goading their foaming skin and bones onward,
Egging them on to reach the Impossible,
Until there’s naught but his shoes left.
Then, chortling with contempt,
They toss the carrot to the wretched beast.



She looks so perfect not standing there,
Light dancing through her hair,
Hand clasped in my mine
We’ll be just fine-
But we’re not.
Where’d you go when I asked about you?
You turned away.
I don’t understand, what did I do?
Whose fault is it anyway
Is there a problem,
Have I been blind,
Is this all an illusion
Was I an intrusion to your perfect life?

Doomed to wander, then.
Doomed to a reclusive life amidst the throngs of beating hearts,
Everyone’s heart beating for someone and someone in return beats
For them, and the world goes round.
But it stopped. The world stopped turning.
Can’t you all tell? Don’t you feel the earth striving to push you back as
You try and force your feet forward along the top of it?
No, you can’t. You float along with your reality-deceiving love.
The world has stopped turning.
So I wander, on this non-spinning orb of rock and carbon, polluted by the
Shared breath of lovers as they delight in their match, their breath
Hot, steamy, and loathsome to me as I envy the beauty that they are, two
Halves of one heart coming together
-Who’s got the other half of my heart?

Speaking for the Silent

Broken, she slides down to the floor,
Remnants scattered from the night before,
Her body in pain, her soul in hell,
She cries unchecked tears-that, after all
These years-come still.
Wrenching her face and her hair with a grimace
She reaches for some covering to hide
Her shame.
The cold wall, her only comfort,
Makes Spock look like Jesus as she
Cries against the wall,
Every tear a waterfall.
Her body is a tool, a method, a hole to be filled-
She hates it, but there’s no other way to pay the bills.
And the children, the children who cry, who clamor and prattle-
Must never know why their mom’s treated like cattle.

Tie in place, with ever stoic a face, the man struts out
Of the hotel where he “spent the night.”
What pleasure did he take,
With that “hoe” who fed his “mojo?”
He has money, and power-screw the price for hour!
In one hour, she’ll just be a memory, a moment of
Pleasure stabbing knives in an already dead body.
In two, a chuckle, a smile on his face-
How could he know he’s chipping away at
Her worth, what’s left of a disgrace!
In four hours, she’ll just be another whore,
A member of the choice cattle for us men to haggle over.
What happened to the worth of a woman?
What happened to the respect that is her due?