poetry from another dimension

prison walls

prison bars
and batting wings
don’t let them tell you
it can’t be done

the streets are paved with gold
here
but not like you think
not pocketed impermanence
possessed security
no-it’s the place where dreams
are acted upon

like hollywood

all a dream
dreams of lack
dreams of abundance
dreams of fame and fortune
and love
and romance

you created this collective dream
and now you are living it

once in prison
a felonious friend
walking in customary circles

around the prison yard
(one hour a day of light only)

spied a wise man, walking
walking
walking
in a straight line
eschewing the circular groove
of the similarly shackled

ankles bound
never to run
can you believe that?
yes it’s still done
shackled ankles
(shudder)
and my friend tells me
yes,
they do try to dig themselves out
with spoons
it’s a true story
but then
don’t we all

try to dig ourselves out
with spoons and walk in
well worn grooves
that go nowhere

so my friend

imprisoned for life

went to ask the dude
what was up
this was no dude, really
they called him yaya

“i walk that way” yaya said
“because of the space
in there center
no one there”

in silence they sat on the edge
of confinement

“your prison”
the yaya said
“is in here”
tapping
his head

“unlock your mind
and you will fly up out of these prison walls
and over the heads of all those
who have oppressed you”

and so the yaya
became the teacher
of the felonious monk
inside the walls of the state’s
sacred abbey of reformation
the land of reluctant saints
rebelling against god’s call to surrender
well, some of them, anyway.
it may be like the
alpha and omega
of the whole journey

yaya taught him to meditate
and to consume nothing harmful
only that which was good
and to fast when no goodness was
available

before long
a life sentence was commuted
and the felonious monk flew free

perhaps this is the only story
the only question we are being asked
you have wings
but their use is optional
will you use them?
or will you fly?
do you believe more
in the walls of the prison
or in the wide open sky

confined by the collective dream
will you step into the prison yard
where no one is standing and

dream your own dream?

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