The bliss of an open field, in sun drenched Midwest days
left an uneasy tension in the mind of the lonesome
and loathsome

How is it that liberty can be so provincial
or that the porous poverty line can be some kind of osmosis
of these societal bounds

What constitutes freedom, when your mind is a cage
or when every book you read is also bound
and these glassy eyes of tower blocks
blink and shudder until they break and rain down
on a whole class of people,
and the bloodied tides swell through the streets at dawn