Prison Sketches

Languorously, In my bunk within my cell I lie. About me circles the reek of excrement And the more putrid inanities Of my fellows.... However, Sentiently, No awareness comes to me. About me clings a gaseous vapor, Impenetrable! O warm black armor, O fragrant yen-shee cloud.... Thank you, unscrupulous jailer!

When wakedness Surged over me like a sea And derelict dreams Drowned themselves In that deep pool of mind Whence only bubbles come again— At that moment A voice crashed inhumanly, Unlike the cadenced rhythm Of the speech I know.... A large tin cup Was thrust at me: Coffee.... But dreams would not drown. The voice said “Here’s your Java!”... Java!... Visions in the word, And palms, And coral strands, And copper bodies leaping in the surf.... And anything but jails!

Today, Walking the corridor, Glimpsing the sky, And champing at the leash of life, I saw the lake.... And the green-fringed park That borders it.... Do you remember, Distant One, The green-fringed park, And the night, And the coming of Love? How long shall it be Before we shall lie again, Lip-kissing, limb-kissing, There on the green grass Of the park That borders the lake?

Big, And brutal, And hateful.... I shivered in his grasp. Hair bristled on his great paws, Oaths stammered to his lips, Rage clouded his huge red face, And I was afraid.... Fear is a hell of a thing For a man to feel.... But when I looked And saw his eyes, Dropping before my steady gaze, And marked his mouth agape, Inarticulate, I laughed.... Fear is a hell of a thing For a man to feel Toward an ox.

I shall destroy my prisons. Not because I hate them For from them has come to me A brighter shaft From Freedom’s pharos-tower. But yet I shall destroy my prisons Because they are false idols Worshipped by lovers of hate.... To these My scorn shall be a scourge, My most tender thought a scorpion. And the fire of my hate Shall consume their concepts.