The poetry of silence swimming
From all corners and rocking
A bassinet, that like a mother’s palm
Gently sways me right to left
Up and down, until I’m a weary
Sight-blunted warrior, in my beauty sleep.
Knowing that, in this life-long incarceration,
My green mile at Alcatraz,
That’s the best part of the day or night,
Not knowing inhale from exhale,
Or the beat or skip of a palpitation device,
Or the snowing thoughts,
Just the perfect illusion of death
Blacking me out, through the Negro night
Where time locks you out,
From your own body, which by itself,
Is a prison cell, of a most-wretched life.
