Prison

Last night would not end,
Last night does not end,
cicadas crying endlessly,
and the dark sky highway

absolute with venus, mars,
and oblivion.

Beamish is driving, in the
dark, late, tired, traveling.
And my prison walls mounting,
an accusation left unanswered.

Kafka has slipped the courts
deftly, but I am contained;
no court appears, but I am
detained, without opportunity

to defend, to right wrongs.
Each intercourse surrounded
by soaring walls, moons circling,
deaf ears, dumb tongues.

Dawn gentles the dark. But the
accusations loom; then the tumblers
click. The knob twist and the wooden
door inhales. The stars evaporate

daylight blushes.