...the meadow and the puddle
you wouldn't come out of

wild and simple joy

invisable to eyes, now...

I wander the meadow grass

the fields where the flowers glow
in early morning
sunlight

the fields you
only dream of
where your soul is always free...

and you come running
spectral through the mist,

I walk lonely fields

In prison, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are birthday cake,
and ramen noodles a succulent meal.
In prison, everyone's given shower shoes,
but pillows you have to steal.

In prison, the "beds" are worse than the floor,
the "blankets" giant SOS pads.
In prison, lice goes around like soup du jour,
and **** talk spreads like mad.

In prison, all you see is gray,
color only lives on your screen.
Now you're picturing us watching a 60-inch all day,
but it's only 13 by 13.

In prison, there's no such thing as steak, there's no such thing as meat.
Almost everything that resembles either is fake.
Real milk would be a real treat.

In prison, you still need money,
or you go to bed hungry each night.
It's seriously not funny.
Three small "meals"a day  
isn't right.

In prison, if you don't lock it down, another con will steal it.
There's more than enough desperation to go around,
and everyone can feel it.

In prison I was years ago.
I'm a different person today.
But the shame felt from being forced to bend over, spread my legs, and cough,
well that's never gone away.

for all the world
he was a battleship
a tanker
all before him
pushed aside
lost in his wake
the wash felt
by many lives

inside he was a coracle
a dingy
rowing for dear life
hoping no one would notice
just how insignificant
he felt

While losing a sense of inevitable discovery,
and wandering from the galactic ambiance;
I paint a portrait along with the waning stars,
which guide me into a cosmic trance.

White light pierces the hectic scramble,
of planets divulging their intimate secrets;
And asteroids crash into the sea of silence,
where an unworthy moon reveals its regrets.

Calming the chaos within this mystical space,
bringing forward a myriad of sins not forgiven;
The sun delights in a showering of angelic force,
which commands the light of day to enliven.

Clear eyed yet wondering how all this matters,
when the rain and wind can disrupt the visions;
Of celestial peace which appears to scatter about,
the revelations rising from fear and delusions.

And that’s where you’ll stay,
sitting in a nest of hairspray. Drifting in
and out of reverie, not down here
on earth with me.

You’re in my heart
And that’s where you’ll remain,
pumping blood through
the blue/red veins, not here
held in my arms, where our hearts
can beat in unison.

You’re in my soul
And that’s where you’ll shine,
bright as the twinkling stars
that have me blind. The horizon is
flat, and falls off the edge as a cat
in a tree. Without your breath
I can’t breathe.