THE SYSTEM

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Many judged guilty without a

Trial

Another victim of society – another

Misplaced file

A court appointed lawyer that

Serves God knows who.

I’m sure they heard “it wasn’t

Me” a time or two.

While it seems they’re required

To fight for only a few

Though it’s all about points

Never mind the crime

Cause it surely wasn’t justice

When someone hurt a child

And got less time

While rehabilitation sounds just

Fine

The recidivism in our system should

Be the biggest sign

 

by, Anon

KEY WEST

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Here lies the end of the rainbow, so they say.  Either way, it’s definitely the end of the road.  Literally and metaphorically.

 

It’s difficult to tell what this town will bring.  I’ve heard everything from paradise to hell.  It’s a place where the mosquitoes sting can bring good luck just as quick as it can suck you dry.  Shoes are optional, bicycles are mandatory and a hard day is modified with a slice of key lime pie.  The sunset eases the worry of the rent you can’t pay, as does the notion of sleeping under the Caribbean sky.

 

The locals drop names, the captains drop anchors, and the tourists drop cash while festivals of people drop their inhibitions.  It’s “The Poor Man’s Riviera” according to Hemingway.  To others, it’s “The Last Bastion of the Overqualified” as deemed so by a colony of musicians and artists and clever tongued people who fancy themselves poets and frequent open mic’-ed café’s.

 

These are the things I know.  But there is so much I don’t – and I must say beware!  For one sailor’s mansion is another’s leaky boat…

Will the mangoes taste as sweet to me or will I find them dying?  Will the endless parties and rows of bars bring cheer or maybe they’re just loud and annoying?  Is it okay to confess I know the snowbird, but know nothing of indigenous chickens or deer or queens of the sea?

 

But perhaps I’ll find the sun can paint me bronze instead of weathering beneath.  Can I forge a life in this hippie haven?  Find a place in a pirate’s cove?  Ya know, maybe even find myself a poet too?  If so, must I write only of coconuts and ocean and blue skies or is it enough just the hope it inspires?

 

Here lies the end of the rainbow and surely the end of the road.  Once down and out, soon up and in, looking for that Key West pot of gold.

 

by, Maren

Writer’s Block

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Writer’s block is a bitch

I swear my eyes are starting to twitch

Can’t think of the words I want

Everything comes out as a grunt

It’s making my brain hurt

I think I’ll shoot it out like Kurt

All right I know I’m done trying

When I start talking about musicians dying

 

by, Puke

~~~~Sorry fans, bare with me~~~~.

BEEP BEEP SHAKE DOWN

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This is a shake down when the CO bad-asses get their laugh.  We get cabbage, beans or anything else that causes gas for lunch.  They give just long enough to hit us then wham-o! They hit us.  They bring in this chair, but no ordinary chair, a metal detector chair.  You sit your butt down first then you put your chin on the back of the chair. When they are sure you have no metal in your ass, when your ass and your chin don’t beep, they do a physical search of you, here we go strip down again.  I think they just like to see us nude.  Then they put you in hall OMG where’s the nose plugs.  Now, what happens if you set this thing off and it goes beep beep beep you better be ready for a rubber glove inspection of your body.  Because these CO bad-asses won’t take your word that at 63 you have a metal rod in your leg from 40 years ago because it is not in your records here so it must not be true. Now as the Bozos call to get the medical records from the doctor it is now after two hours of trying to figure out why the 63 year old lady set the Beep Beep chair off finally going room to room tearing them apart again only this time they take your photos of Jesus and your papers and throw them out with the trash.  Guess they did not get laid the night before, or the doughnut shop was closed, but don’t throw out Jesus with the trash, that’s not cool.  Meanwhile in the hall thirty to forty women are starting to get pissed off because the gas in this little hall is taking up the cool air and we are now hot, we have to pee and some of the women need to go wipe their ass coz their farts smell like they done shit themselves.  The CO’s get done but they’ve heard us complaining so they stand around and BS for a little bit.  Finally they find out the 63 year old lady was telling the truth and was not hiding a stash or two and they have Main Control open the door so the CO don’t have to smell what comes out of the hall as they laugh and tell us to clean our rooms.  As they take our pictures of Jesus out with the trash.

 

by, Anon

A MOMENT OF INSANITY

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I’d like to take you back in time so buckle up and prepare to head out.  We’re headed for a place beyond Garland where dreams are just your imagination and nightmares become everyday occurrences in the game called life.  We’re headed to a place where KFC means Killer Fired Communists and your way is no way at all.  I would like to remind everyone to be properly dressed before your departure.  Meaning knee high boots. Although taller is perhaps better because the shit’s knee deep and known to rise.  Head covering is optional but keep in mind that shit falling from the sky doesn’t bring good luck since smelling like shit can be hazardous to your health and more than likely get you pushed into the lake of piss where nine times out of ten nobody will attempt to jump in and rescue you.  Please feel free to try any of our herbal essences since spice is truly nice.  They have been cultivated for your pleasure however please do not overindulge in these designer products!  This will lead to hallucinations varying from guest to guest.  For example one or more of the great balls of turd may appear freshly baked but chips ahoy they’re not!  You may even get to enjoy the vision of Puff the Magic Dragon playing through the night yelling “To one and to all puff, puff, puff pass for a merry ol’ night.” That’s all for now, please enjoy your journey through my mind otherwise knows as insanity.

 

by, Lonnie