The lock on this door is none
but the one loch placed there
the one hung
by his own hand
where I hang
out the window, smoking
A ribbon of rancid choking
like a white flag rising
rising SOLEMN
blown away by the wind
like the poems I whisper
between bars
walking between worlds
falling through cracks
another mortal frame of life
arms dangling, beautiful
above red clay bricks
drunk with sunlight
arcing toward the horizon
with no end in sight
just another sentence
just another prisoner
of many lives.
by pmb 2024