Scene of the Crime

Putting on cotton wool

so the bones in my brain

don’t rattle.

Making bars

more comfortable

in my cell;

padding their edges,

bending them into

filigree shapes.

Digging windows

in the world wall,

            to see

if anything out

there is worth

looking at.

Framing reality

for a crime it did not

            commit,

concocting a case,

against all odds,

in defense.

Off on a technicality;

going back to visit

the scene.

Making notes,

allowing instinct to

have a say.

Jumping to conclusions,

sinking in, relaxing

            the bars,

breathing the dank

but homely smell

of a prison,

all mine to play with,

that I have just woke

up in.