Monday, March 23, 2009



The cop takes your ID.

The cop takes your keys.

The cop takes your money.

The cop takes your jacket.

The cop takes your wallet.

The cop takes your jewelry.

The cop takes your belt.

The cop takes your top shirt.

The cop takes your shoelaces.

Then the cop takes your shoes.

C'mon, man, leave me my sneakers.

No. Do you want your socks?

Yeah, I ain't goin' in there barefoot.

From in there

is a welling of yelling pooling under the door.

Loud and angry, drunk and drugged, forlorn and obscene.

There's a lot of fear coming from

in there.

Caged and wild, raw and tense, explosive and desperate.

Do you want your pants?


Eyes meet eyes, a moment.

One pair daring, one pair watching freedoms die,

perusing the endless parade of replicates

behind this particular cop

suffocating the breadth of the world,

so even if rebellion is possible

there would be no end to the fight,

there would be no end to the flight,

there would be no end to the days like this,

there would be no sanctuary,

there would be

only worse . . .




blinking back

a tear of despair

in a sag of shoulders

and briefly bowing head,

a muttered:


Good. Let's go meet your new friends.

The captives hear us approach the door,

there's a jostling for position,

pleas to the cop to get meds

and to use the phone

begin before the door is reached.

On the other side of that door is another universe.

On the other side of that door is everlurking danger.

On the other side of that door is blood.

On the other side of that door is the naked Self.

On the other side of that door is Evil.

On the other side of that door is Submission.

Each step brings more

resigned composure,

back straighter,

shoulders higher,

muscles relaxing . . .

must maintain control . . .

nothing but a thing . . .

time to define a life . . .

it's just another day . . .

I know how it works . . .

I belong . . .

this is home . . .


no fear

until nobody's



Please no.

The cop eyes you to stop,

unlocks the door,

opens it,

the decibel level rockets,

the shit stench rolls out

bearhugging the last hopes of freedom into submission.

The cop motions you in.

And with a sighful sigh

a signal from your soul

sends a silence so clear

it's easy to hear

as it fills your ears

. . .

Aw, damn, once more into the breach.

A frenzy of visuals assault the senses.

Shaggy beards, bald heads, tattooed faces, pierced bodies,

dirty, torn, ragged clothing

piss and spit mix with shit and vomit,



the environment

of steel bars and steel floors and steel slabcots

no padding

steel sinks and steel toilets

no handles

no seats

and cinder block walls

painted steel gray

and chipping with steel violence.

A frenzy of sounds assault the senses.

Guttural, spitting, angry, snarls

tinged with the diarrhea melt of underbelly fright,

questions, demands, pleas, wailings

directed mostly at the cop

pleading with venom . . .

some at the world,

in whipped whimpers . . .

and some at the newjack,

snarling hungrily . . .


looks back as if to say

this is no time to play.

A frenzy of feelings assault the senses.

Cold, hard, flat, unforgiving

nowhere any cuddles, any snuggles, any handles

on the razor slices of emotional combat

in a purgatory

where all the exits lead anew to another place,

that's the same place,

here again

to a land of fear where anger is king

and love is life's lost lyric.

A frenzy of smells assault the senses.

Biohazardous, sharp, biting, clawing

permeating the lungs and invading every pore,

rending sanity like bear claws through cheap toilet paper

as each breath is like a sloppy, chunky kiss

with the triple-turned bard of disease . . .

no escape . . .

the smell brings a hiccup of fear

quickly suppressed

but not before peeking,

in the barest mewl of silence,

as a tremor of a glint of a twitch of an eye.

oh mama, no.

I am


Only the cop felt it,

Only the cop smiled.

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