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
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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