cob

what prison bars do not
is what a spider web does not
bars laid upon stones
on stones & stores
empty, elbow decoration, by bars.
 
climb a love below the granite line to lock with the
locking sound. The setting lock, the frozen sea of
granite. The smoke of prison bars shape trees
 
Each bar is a virgin. Each door a flock of
joists & atoms. I am the filament of granite. I
have become the child of filter & filigree. I am a
prisoner at the feet of the dark house. Its sons
are architects

from Minimum Security Prison Dentistry (Anything Anymore Anywhere Press, 2011), ? Steven Fowler 2011, used by permission of the author

S. J. Fowler in the Poetry Store

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