POEM FROM JAIL
Freedom rings orange for recidivist stints
in gunmetal jumpsuit militant-issue print
regales with tales of San Quentin initiates
parolee said his souls' owned by police ever since.
nonchalant, with the knowledge of slobbin and where it gets him
chalks it up to sidewalk jive-talk he's scared of spittin'
'cause cops flex, all obsessed with makin him a victim
inchin toward a probable cause- said they caught him flinchin'
societal flaws keep us dumb as Golgafrincham
telephone sanitizers and mizers called wisdom
makes $ makes sense, desensitized to lives in prison lost
to purify a world with steel bars built up with driven costs
a world of locked doors and windows, where freedoms never lost
never really had it, when they outlawed the river-walkers
Ferrymen, and Aryan becomes a term for what its not
warriors in search of forefathers among the demigods.