The prison cell of body’s paper thin.
It’s broken before and after we live.
So if you’re not happy to be trapped in
Its tiny floorspace, you just have to give
It time. Remember it’s all relative.
Remember before you were born? Peaceful,
Eh? War, disease, poverty, like a sieve
They fell through you, and you felt nothing. Lull
Yourself with that, and wait for your own cull
As hungry beggars wait for banquets. Grin
Like the skulls piled in museums in Phnom Penh.
Your penitentiary’s penitent, full
Of dread of being dead, of carnal sin,
But you will be free, no longer captive.
Fri 16 Feb 2007
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