Jericho

Prisons, the ones we make

and the ones we break.

Did the sun and the moon stand still

when the trumpets blared?

Was it like the horns of bulldozers

and the shouts of cannons?

Once again it crawls beneath my skin

like in the brave song,

where the singer implores:

-Got to lose this skin

I’m imprisoned in-

I think she was talking about

something else;

like family or history

or the pain of knowing

and seeing too much.

We are so good at walls,

we love to build them or blast'em,

hide behind them. Disguise them.

Sometimes even make them into

thousand mile tourist attractions

where we can stand and imagine

the invading hordes from the steppes.

Or Mexico.

Because we need to watch out

for the barbarians and trespassers.

They have no respect for gods or laws.

The ones we made up, anyway.

And the worst invader is

the crowded mob inside me

with it's demands for wild rivers,

women, whiskey, cigarettes and songs.

Don't they know?

This is not healthy, acceptable,

obedient, or dutiful.

This cell can be broken from the inside,

no tanks or helicopters required.

That's what will shatter the rest you know,

joy that smothers fear with a blanket,

a blanket in the grass

where we can lie on our backs

watching the stars

and scratching bug bites.

And remember when

some other barred doors

slammed open for the last time

on that famous island prison

now with it's ferries and guided tours.

Let's try it again with horns and singing,

it worked once before.

Stop the sun and the moon

have a dance, a parade

for twenty four hours.

It'll be soon enough before

someone’ll come along

with a big ring full of keys

and tries to lock us up again.

Ready to make some escape plans?