In this latest poem from my prison pen pal “Conway“, he makes a pun on California’s “three-strikes” sentencing law, which condemned him to 25 years to life for receiving stolen goods. He is still awaiting a court date on his early release petition pursuant to the law’s repeal in 2012.
Throwing Strikes
In this deserted surround
no voice echoes
as shards of concrete
erupt from rusted selves
just disregarded shells.
Another door slammed shut
forged considering the score
blind no more to loose lips
the silent frame up
of unlimited mysteries’ damage.
Back when I couldn’t admit
some small time defeat, even if
it put me back on the street.
I knew the situation…
It would not end, even after
a meeting of knuckles on skin.
Light lyrics, became heavy lies
years, as far away as yesterday
ricochets snatched up so easily
become the law, the gavel
as a systematic machine
takes it in, like a pitcher’s glove…