June 1965

And when you think you’re
in a house of keys
and the doors even themselves
have secrets
what do you do when
the gaoler gets a plastic death
in his cold bomb brain ?

do you take up a cane
and thrash the old daylight
back to your vacant cell ?
do you call the withering bars
to a courtroom and cool chaos ?
do you sentence the dead judge
to a black cap it all punishment ?

What do you do when
the keys the keeper and the day
that all went pop
leave you holding the wrinkled
baby-dream you never knew
was even in the scheme of brick-laid things ?