Fishbowl

I have known the methodical torment of the cell,

a eons of dead men chip away in the stratum of paint,

cold hard steel embedded in cold dead cement,

permanence; it closes in upon blood, spirit, and flesh;

here, the white institutional hum of fluorescent will kill,

issued wool blankets, issued roll of five hundred sheet single-ply,

They wipe Their ass with you, fear the jingling of freedom's keys,

They fence in fiends and the ferocious fallen forever.

And I have seen the predatory black eyes of men forced to hunt,

they stalk the waters of the plastic populated cafeteria areas,

they swim through the waves of grass and the sands of asphalt,

Guards, in Their ornaments play the Phoenicians of these seas,

man, not sharks, suffocating, secluded; in a Phoenician sea.