Jail Poem by robert dickerson

Jail. The best place for poets.
The only place the heart may
rest. The rest is cant.
Time there is to rest
and think, there is no want,
and think, days upon day,
water, bread, paper, ink,
beans, a vegetable course.
There the sea. There is the bay.
Is it really that way? Is it really like that?
Freedom in the bars interstice.
Freedom from the world's intruders.
Cells where prisoners may
discover each other
in the yards' corners, and chat.