Disjointed Memorized Words from a Cell

My reflection drips from the steel bunk above me.
White brick reflects flourescent light that glows from the corner.
My bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and study are all within reach
Inside this joint on E. Hickory. Once green prairie,
They try to replace Dionysis with roads –
Oak, Sycamore, Pecan – named such to tell us what they took away
In the name of Justice, Law, and Order.
But Apollo cannot survive on her own. Cells must be filled
With those who live organic; those who say,
“this is where I find myself on account of my vice.”
Some lose their liver, some lose metabolism, I missed a party.
Who said freedom is free? I gotta pay 500 dollars to get out
Tomorrow so I can join my family for mother’s day.
Men always write about the ladies they let down,
However, I cannot write, for they kept my pen.
So I lay here and recite aloud to myself in isolation.