At Christmas 2010

(for Steve Logan)

in silence
words
drift onto
the page…
i think
of him
at 5 a.m.
hanging
as a
dead branch
in winter..
prison
now his
coffin
again
along inhuman
landings
the scream
none choose
to hear

inept
ranting of
silly
politicians
“prison works”
fuck
off
prison
works for
state formed
from
contradictions
justice
prostituted
each time
damaged
person falls
like a
leaf in
winter

a man
killed himself
in prison
this christmas..
for him
no
real rest
until he
found his
path
from danger
still, no room
for thought
on
hard questions
“who are the
real criminals?”
no room for steve
this christmas..
shadows of church
block the sun