I don’t want to bore you with too much ranting about the suck fest-reality struggling to be heard from these tombs as CDOC sells its snake oil, to the public and us prisoners, while turning out such a high number of recidivists. The truth is in the numbers, . but I’ll write something bitching about the usual in my next piece. The irony here being that I am going to enclose a poem about a certain prison to get away from all this writing about prison. Art in place of insightful journalism with a hint of opinion because, personally, I prefer creating the art.
The following is entitled “Land of 1000 Psychopaths”.
In the land of 1000 psychopaths, games of human nature get serious; people get hurt, sometimes killed.
In the land of 1000 psychopaths, people are attacked, stabbed, bludgeoned and ripped to shreds without even knowing why.
In the land of 1000 psychopaths, there has been much pain, suffering, misery and sorrow.
Yet, in the land of 1000 psychopaths, 1000 psychopaths still
find time to laugh, joke and kid; they play.
In the land of 1000 psychopaths, people overdose on drugs, drink the nectar of fermented fruit and orally consume hand sanitizer.
In the land of 1000 psychopaths, a single syringe plunges into hundreds of different arms; because of this hep C runs rampant and gangs violently chase known gays away out of fear that they will infect these implements with AIDS.
This land of 1000 psychopaths, it looks like a college campus but is cold as a morgue.
Prison Writers Support Organization 