Mental Prison

They drag me in
for the crimes I've commited
and seat me down
upon
a cold
hard
chair.

I'm being interrogated by the brain police.

"Where were you on July 23rd between the hours of 9 am and 4 pm?"

Well, officer,
I was stuck in traffic.

Mental traffic.

There was a red light at Depression Ave. and Self-Doubt Way.

I was going crazy,
you know-
I was wanted to get home
get safe
get warm
get a beer
get the hell
out
of
there.

"So, you have an alibi, then?"

They slap down papers before me.

Poems I've written.

Out of distaste
that swarmed,
out of the fear
that swelled
and
destroyed
my
care.

I did it, sir.

It was me.

They handcuff me,
slap me on the back of the head
and throw me in a cell.

There's a dead mouse without the 'o'
rotting in here,
and it stinks.

Time to turn in, I suppose.

-------------------------------------------------------------------
Standing by the window,
Eyes upon the moon-
Hoping that the memory will leave his spirit soon.
He shuts the doors and lights
and lays his body on the bed,
where images and words are running deep-
He has too much pride to pull the sheets above his head,
So quietly he lays and waits for sleep.

Kevin Moore, Wait for Sleep
-------------------------------------------------------------------
I served my time.
They let out.

Good behavior.

I paid my bail
to the cashier at Sunmart-
he handed me a 6-pack
and my fake I.D. back and said, "Have a good night."

"Well, hell, I hope so, sir- it's just been one of those days."

And it certainly was.

I woke up,
revitalized,
refreshed,
renewed,
re-inspired,
and ready.

Ready to face these insecurities
and doubts
and fears
and tell THEM to go find
a new place
to take up
residence.