I was never in,

save if there was a new album

in which Monday mornings

spent flicking through covers

and memory

of songs heard on the radio

during the weekend

were too much for my psyche

to let go, the hook,

the lyric became my needle.

Never in, always out,

what was the point in self imposed prison, surrounded

by walls, decorated by posters to cover

the stark white oppression and unhappy warden;

now I stay in, the world has become

my prison, for the body and mind cannot

conceive freedom.

Ian D. Hall 2017