Stockade

The cards no longer jump from my fingers
as they did when I paced the barred corridors
or leaped from the rooftops like angels
while the guards in their towers watched nervously
or sang in the darkness curled under the cot without
bootlaces.

In the dispensary I took everything I could.
I knew my number and part of my name.
When the locks fell away I discovered my cage.
Now the streets have no end and the houses no number.
When I read the words fall apart in my eyes.

by L.W Seeley, Jr.

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