James McLain

Gold Star - 40,778 Points (1958 - / From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By)

Florida Prisons - Poem by James McLain

When you have because you there must I when;
your debts whatever they where and still are
long after truth has exposed and transported to another
place and time
before even Christ was born,
before mosses was even a seed of faith.
Prison where with nothing but a bulb that never goes out
and over by the urinal
heard even from bed many, many men away
the sucking noises
loose gurgly bubbles and out of breath one while the other
passes gas and one hundred fifty men
where their should be only twenty
and some night the shadows move acre's the open dorm
and can innocence be thus taken
still is a whimper please praying stop
different from the grunt and men tightened together
the shadow passes by you
and the smell of feces unwashed
on persons with everyone where immediately
and some of those wires thus deeply and incorporate
and incredible dark snotty gross
less human wheezing of hell oneself.
Your spirit almost cuts under those of dead noises and odors intermingling:
hard not washed air just like that emanation of discovered
and those body lay in darkness lubricates and thin and bent unquestionable bottom of bowl without the unquestionable arms thoughtless and worst of all:
the total absence of hope it wraps they covers them completely.
it's not bearable.
You obtain to the top bunk hoping that mouths walk
past undiscovered
streets to the top of and to the bottom a side walk
passed around the corner and back to the top of same
the thought street these men all were children once
what is produced with they the state it 'God' it knew it?
and what produced with It why for whom for what end?
It'S darkness of and cold outside and here.
Stealing a car the lowest of the low of a felony
raped every day which is a life felony,
robbed weekly when your family sends money
life felony
and nine dollars to make a phone call but no one to call
and not knowing what is where and whom is who
and the fence covered with Razor wire
last week I spoke to the 'guard'
He received the money and
he promised, he swore he would not miss,
I told him if he did I would..... Send this poetry to a friend.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, February 4, 2010

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