Tucked behind bars
Prison promises
He rocks for hours
On a damp concrete floor
Cell thirty-one
Holds a man who
Churns with madness
Spits on guards
Haunts other prisoners
With visceral chide
Once the sky falls again
The moon reads the
Palm of his hand
Guilty
He weeps and gasps for
Air that seems scarce
On his bed of stone
Joints buckle
Unjust hours trudge
As the just slumber
In freedom
Dawn loses meaning
There are no days
Only sun and moon
Sun and moon
His passion
His gun
His conviction
Life with
Life without