Prison Food

I just ate
last year’s
mass of characters,
thoughts of type and
sign waves,
my half-revolution came
from seeing the same
side of the sun again.

Elliptic trips
blurred with the present,
a prison meal of
eatsleepthinkwrite
and accidental crying
like pissing my pants.

It’s raining here.
A lot.
This trip’s almost over
though it won’t really end.
But I think the food will be better.

c.e.s
10.11.2009