Pacing round the block
Not ready to go home
After picking up the mail
Enjoying the last licks
Of a day winding down
Drinking the embered horizon
There is no prison here
These hands and feet
These eyes and ears
This nose and mouth
These joints and organs
I’m a rocket ship
Hurdling through space
Dragging this rocky earth
In my turbulent wake
-T. Weeks
@life_immense
(A response to “The Singer in the Prison”)
Life Immense 