A Cell Poem by James McLain

here in this, my darkest
of the nests
a cell
contained inside the living womb
you can tell, by the smell.
often of their race,
of they whom were here before.
and the sex monotonous,
never changes.
greatcoats from a future
walking past me.
desperate to keep all your, familiars
off the ice cold,
malignant concrete floor.
the drain in the center of it,
a pipe line to every other
living hell.
some, never left alone, one moon
without some prearranged
needful thing, kind on purpose.
mother, oh my mother can you hear me?
if i were again a babe to rest against,
your egg plant, purple milky teats,
would you turn me over too the state,
not once, but thrice again.
because of chocolate pie and vanilla
milk shake, skies
riding high on mountain tops
and hidden in the clouds,
here they come again, to beat and rape me,
just because i know their names.