prisoner raze we fall in line in front of our cells and take turns barking the numbers they've given us to take the place of our names. i can't remember mine. i guess at the sequence. no one corrects me. no one complains. a grey door opens to a concrete floor. a toilet in the corner of the room with a black lid. no tissue. no sink. no cellmate. no stainless steel detention bunk frame with a mattress thinner than the shirt on my back. nothing but a pot to piss in and the enduring emptiness of now. an accident or an act of retribution. i don't know which. it makes no difference. here the noise that never lets me rest holds no sway. i could sleep on my feet. i will if i have to. 240214 what's it to you? who go blather from