Poem from prison


I slunk
candy on my breath
past a weeping violin.

I tore out my smile
and rolled it like a cigarette
smoldering gently.

He began to smoke
and my guilt subsided
the smoke caught in his wrinkles
and my nakedness chattered.

I think I love the night
with its wolfish yellow eyes
the burn of anti-sleep
pacing at my window
smelling the rain
the pointed teeth of exuberant melancholy
catching your throat
as it hops away
like a frog.

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About the Author

Hi. My name is Jeremy John. I'm a scifi writer and activist working to build a liberationist Christianity.

Right now, I'm writing a dystopian science fiction novel, and building a website that will connect farms and churches, mosques, and synagogues to buy fresh vegetables directly and distribute them on a sliding scale to those in need.

In 2003, I spent six months in prison for civil disobedience while working to close the School of the Americas, converting to Christianity while I was in the clink.

I'm always looking for dialogue, so kick in below in the comments, connect on Twitter or Facebook, or. . . Read More