Poems of the imprisoned writer

by Kerry Hammerton

You write them in your head, pacing the words
as you step, step, step turn in your cell.

They graft themselves under your fingernails,
tattoo themselves onto your eyelids.

Some parts of them are frozen in the snow,
some parts tortured by your screams.

They leap over high walls and at night
whisper repeat themselves to you.

Near death they keep you alive.
They are the rain you never feel on your skin.


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