Life in a Turkish Prison

Bow scratches turn of phrase

etchings in the sounds that bare

forgiveness in a misguided mar

Hollow point, shells of heart

delineated barracks in a song

less known than the emotions it follows

Ravenous, maestros of delectability

evening scars protrude, as seams often encounter

an atlas unseen, where if one would’ve

gleamed, the circled sect would indicate the x inside

Swish about the sunken sediment

refurbishing its place in the swirls

in a game, of cat and mouse, moments

before the tilt back ends the misery from which

its momma swells/in the language she’s feigned ignorance for

A Turkish prison is not known as your epitome of grace

Life in the bowels of deceit can easily mistake a smile

From what is nothing but a variation of the frown