the moon is a lie
a pockmarked
paper mache satellite
hung in the sky
to add an illusion
of depth to the
blank ceiling of this
wobbling penitentiary

the stars incandescence
leaking from the cell
above twinkling as
the inmate paces
back and forth from
bunk to toilet sink
in a futility where
madness blisters the
pale pink paint coating
the cinder block horizon

the sun is a myth
whispered feverishly
among the inmates toiling
in anonymity among
razor wire clouds
despondent efflorescence
catching the stray
spotlight beams refracting
in defiant subjugation