stepped on a sidewalk crack
seven year's bad luck

If it is chasms
Y'all desire...

sidewalk cracks freeze me
in bad luck repose,
firefly-in-a-jar trapped,
hole'd enough to breathe,
but no prison break escape

come to live
in my little space
these chasmic concrete cracks
my enclosure, my true cell immobile,
it is what they mean when they say,
"have you see his pen?"

boundaries man-built
serving a seven year sentence,
bad luck my only laughing friend,
my midnight to moon
fiend~companion boon

washer dryer closet n' bed
all in a three by three metered space,
my sidewalk castle
now a nyc tourist attraction

rain and shiner, the sidewalk cross
mine alone, even the pigeons
stay away, not so stupid as they look,
fair game for dietary consumption

technical setting details of no matter,
but they come by the thousands
not to see, just
snapping tapping taunting the
immobilizing invisible chasm crackled
sidewalk poet,
writing poems by governmental command,
literarily and literally,
for all to see

seven is not eleven and someday
only time will know, and advise
when cursed lifted, then,

he will never have to
write poems for the public's
insatiable need to
mock and ridicule
ever again