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poetry reading - audio & text

In prison, each day is an adventure—

or so they say: remaining unconvinced

of all corrective benefits I cinch //

my eyes, eliding in dark apertures.

So many years have blurred into my face,

this somnolescent wall of blisters. //

A scribe of cloaks & daggers,

mastering grimoires

in america’s necropolis, //

my grave stands six feet overground—

a crooked line to you

as calendars presage these scenes.