Jail

21 July 2013

What's jail like,

I used to wonder.

Now I know.

--Jail is where pariahs go.

Or, rather,
the womb from which they ne'er are birthed:
the safe-room where
they sit piled high in straight jackets while
T. Rex's "Cosmic Dancer" plays on repeat with an
ambient grocery-store-like airiness.

Jail is the corner of your very own
private dormitory in Hell that
the oscillating electric fan doesn't reach.

--The inside of my
mouth, full with the thrill of
vacancy,
where the taste of gum, cigarettes, and pickles
lingers.

I know why the jailbird sings.

Reviews

[Shaquana Adams]

Jail is the corner of your very own
private dormitory in Hell that
the oscillating electric fan doesn't reach

It's like the air of the fan is what man needs to hope and live.
Great write :)