Recently I’ve started teaching a poetry class in a maximum security prison.

It’s a tough job but I enjoy it. It really has it’s prose and cons.

What do you think?

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  1. Ode to my Celly…

    I look to my left,
    As I wonder where…

    I look to my right,
    Again, not there.

    I know I keep
    All of my junk,

    Like I have for years,
    At the end of my bunk.

    You say you didn’t
    Move my favorite sock…

    But the more I think,
    Your truths become not.

    My shank, you know
    On my side I keep,

    Just remember mother fucker,
    I know where your sleep…

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