Prisoner of Conscience
Hear this as a soft rock ballad,
midtempo, lots of keyboard
See this in a lurid red
gradually drained of colour
Taste this as dark rum, flat beer
and sun-warmed mayonnaise
Feel this as an ingrown hair
rubbing against corduroy
Breathe this in as kerosene
and cherry cough drops
You will never
leave this place
Kevin Canfield is a writer in New York City.
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