Sharing a cell
with my former self
locking horns in this pissing match
for a hole in the ground
fond memories fade like
a photograph
dusty in its elegant frame
I do not recognize that man
I do not recollect the time
it took to get here
caught in a wrinkle
in his leathered face
a speck absorbed in
sunshine’s
tractor-beam rays
man so wicked in his ways
defining crime
to pass the time
past, the point
of realization now
someday, a page ripped
from the wall
clock hands cover mouth too afraid to speak
© Copyright Steve Shultz. All rights reserved.
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