the sun has yet
to wake itself from
the long quiet
night of slumber
the apartment is
as dark as the coffee
steaming in the mug
today is not meant
for being caged
yet i dress slowly
well aware some
cages are made out of
glass and show you
the freedoms we have
to pay for at the cost
of our civil liberties

one cell traded
gleefully for another
a cyclical disaster
unfurling awkwardly
thirty stories above


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