Trap Poem #1

Jingle… jingle… jingle
I hear the jailhouse keys swinging from her hips,
sassy black lady officer saunters slowly past the door of our pod.
It sounds like she’s about to stop and open the door.
We all get ready to greet her like a bunch of dogs left at home too long…
but she doesn’t stop
so we resume doing the same nothing we’ve been doing all weekend.

Prisoner of the War on Drugs
you get a number & some paperwork,
they get a badge & a gun.
Which side you on man?
Run the jail from the inside
run the block from the outside
run the trap til the springs snap back
you either a roach, meat, some time, or a rat.

blah blah blah blah play spades & watch tv
gimme pen & ink.
whatchu got to write anyway,
tryin’ to impress someone?
Allow me to…
express maself now…

trap nation!!!
This whole fucking country is a freedom trap,
everything I wanna do is illegal,
I see the good within the bad within the good within the raw
within the meat that’s still alive, bleeding and horny,
tap the veins with a “fuck me” face
let me get up in Lady Liberty’s guts
so I can see what she’s been hiding beneath those robes all these years,
is it Baby Jesus or is just a pile of tax returns and indictments?
Let me touch your torch, girl,
we’ll burn this jail down

Man, the IRS & the FDA have been 69ing in the closet,
working on some fiscal tantric union
smelling like dirty underwear, bad chemistry, broken finances.
There’s weird shit in these grits,
bologna & cheese sandwiches,
salt peter in the pudding?
too many commercials on daytime television
now I can’t hold an attention span
so I read 3 books: a western, a drama, and a fairy tale
the American Dream unfolds & overlaps
while I’m flipping through jailhouse programming,
watching my soap dramas disappear in hot water
flies buzz after this moldy bread,
I’ve been walking in circles around the pod
chanting mantras to protect the mind I never had.
“Fuck it, you a free man”,
sez the tv and radio but I just don’t know how to believe that.

Lonely in my bunk
I telepathically text the lovely ladies I see
behind closed eyes & doors,
I caress them like wind on leaves
in the open,
I tell them how beautiful they are
while I wish
I could eviscerate myself
with love;
I try to do it constantly.
Call it selfish-will
but I want to give myself away
‘cus I think it’s the only way
to commit suicide
in a healthy & constructive manor.
Die in love; all I’ve been wanting to do
with this lifetime
learning to die well

where’s the love here?

I see these guards watching me.
Oh pirates yes they rob I.
Oh pirates, yes I rob them.
Oh pirates, yes I’m a peaceful one
but I know what blood tastes like
and I’ll have yours
if you try me.

Call this a misguided musing of another lost stargazer,
can’t seem to find the orbit right now
so I just amble through all this space
debris and all
navigating with my best intentions
paving the highway to samsara
with invisible asphault
maybe I just want attention;
why do I write and share?
I needed no intentions,
my life is the prayer!
Who likes & who cares?
No mind, no matter
I’m having a discourse
with myself

Man, I hear that guard again,
sooner or later
they’re gonna open the heavy metal sliding door
and tell me I made bail.
Or maybe not, maybe I’ll sit here and rot; HA!
they’ll have to try a little harder to keep me down,
‘cus if you really wanna know the truth
I can see through this whole pile of shit
while I sit right down on the floor
chant ‘til I escape the real prison door:
this man-made body,
this culturally-engineered mind,
these fucking clothes made of plastic and pesticide cotton,
they’re just a front.
Look in my eyes and see right through
no threats here
but you can bust me upside the head
if you don’t like what you see,
I don’t have any use for courage or fear

I’m waiting here
and I’ll be here waiting
‘til the locks rust off the doors
and I can kick my way out to see sunshine before I exhale
all this pent-up energy I’ve been holding between my eyes and shoulders
for too many lifetimes, god damn!

The chaplain can wipe his ass with my rap sheet for all I care.
God lives in this house, too
and if you don’t like it
you can shack up with some other devil.
I’m a dancing corpse with a rope around my neck
I avert my gaze, I see nothing
while I hear the shakedown man
pooping out lines of suboxone, weed, and tobacco
making money gets shitty sometimes

Somebody get me to the psych ward.
I hear they have better drugs there.

Categories: poetry, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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