Alcatraz Becomes Art

Life is a concrete room. Small toilet. Scratched walls

covered with ugly letters from someone unnamed,

gone. Did dampness take them,

losing them in this cement? What could be worse

than separation from the guy next door,

walls that shackle talk?

Is this the fate of us who shout,

sing, recite, agitate, dance? Ocean prison,

no windows to watch pelicans and whales,

San Francisco’s brown hills that leap towards green

when April’s storms swim by?

We lucky ones will stay outside.

Our freedom demands our minds join you,

beaten, silenced, raped, left without pencils

and walking shoes, nights when sleep is slashed

from your grasp, days with water along your lungs,

neighbors with bullets for eyes, guards whose hands

are warm fangs. World with no darkness or silence

whose wishes are blank.

We’re there.

Let’s make campfires from dreams when you fear

and dig a tunnel out.



About pelicanguy6

I'm an environmental educator and writer currently based in Oakland, California. I plan to include a hiking/nature journal on this blog, along with articles on environmental education, travel articles, poetry, and spontaneous thoughts. I am a passionate hiker and camper and a world traveler. I really enjoy cooking vegetarian feasts, and specialize in veggie German meals for Oktoberfest.
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