(no subject)
usually my poetry lives and dies inside my notebooks, free from criticism.
i thought this was a nice way to summarily answer the question "what do you do at work all day?" without really baring my soul in lime green...
"and this, this is my jail cell.
these women are my guards,
Japanese, hostile, blank-faced.
the larger one wears her glasses severely--
fat rounded ovals that reflect little
the small one wears her conscience openly--
afraid of the other woman's pounce.
they pace the hall together
twice daily;
they are not amused.
this room awaits me, a blue-painted wall
my sky
and the discarded items in this makeshift closet
keep my company well.
behind a desk, i sit, manacled in my well-paid
repression.
and this, this is my jail cell.
i walk the long, emplty hall twice daily
a repeated journey, devoid of windows
this is my walk to freedom
or from it.
a tunnel of cinder block and drywall
a tunnel of halogen and berber
muting the echo of my cheap Payless heels
closing in on me
and this, this is my jail cell."
i thought this was a nice way to summarily answer the question "what do you do at work all day?" without really baring my soul in lime green...
"and this, this is my jail cell.
these women are my guards,
Japanese, hostile, blank-faced.
the larger one wears her glasses severely--
fat rounded ovals that reflect little
the small one wears her conscience openly--
afraid of the other woman's pounce.
they pace the hall together
twice daily;
they are not amused.
this room awaits me, a blue-painted wall
my sky
and the discarded items in this makeshift closet
keep my company well.
behind a desk, i sit, manacled in my well-paid
repression.
and this, this is my jail cell.
i walk the long, emplty hall twice daily
a repeated journey, devoid of windows
this is my walk to freedom
or from it.
a tunnel of cinder block and drywall
a tunnel of halogen and berber
muting the echo of my cheap Payless heels
closing in on me
and this, this is my jail cell."