written from my stinkin prison cell

cry if you want which of us men hasn't cried you,re shouted at like a five year old squat when you're told squat till you're old no radio, no internet, no chocolate , no image of a woman fifteen hoiur lie down lock up day by groundhog day who wouldn't cry who wouldn't die some-where inside hunting for some-where to find solice some-place that must exist some-where and even if it doesn't it must just somewhere my kingdom for a woman versus this hard tiled floor for a bed. these mosquito fenced iron cages this supressing humidity, this incescant open toilet odour of raw pointlessness cry why don't ya by lateral thinking us bunched homo sapiens cognatively redundant as predisposed as canon fodder only less constructive than an ant are wasting flesh this bland ruptured womb these brideless grooms re-instutionalising to get on to get over by now, just to get off Parasites and dreggs like shore spit Who wouldn't cry the ceiling bears crosscurrants of alto vibrations 10kg wrought iron shackles drudging anchors of 23 hour 23 year solitary lock ups ringing serated monotones in macarbe rolling hums and though the sobering screech is harsher than deserting wildlife from this bottomless pit the vultures are as good as dined by clockwork for the corns are ripped fom society's mischeivous little toes and discarded Who wouldn't cry