My good prison jeans

never able to truly take in air under this flat woven space without inhalers or morning,
afternoon, and evening doses of the right measurements

stolen victories in speaking to God from chambers of misery, buck-hidden collapses,
dance squads laughing, and poking 50s dining cars

lonely places under the squirrel padlocks
yelling at the avenue, for partitioned authoritarian weekly prancing foods
the semester has ended like some credit must be bestowed
like some prayer has been unveiled, only one’s willingness to look the other way

concerned that what you’ve learned is not more important than what you’re seeing
never dance, never conceding, microphones are not for the jazz, but the disturbing