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The Prose of Cons

They write it down in prison linguistics
love poems crippled with illiteracy,
the scripture of those with too much
time on their hands, and little left to live for.
They write it down, for us, the gullible public
who live for love, or at the very least, the fantastic
notion of such a fancy. As if it were enough,
they write it down, scribble it upon urine stained walls,
the halls of homicidal maniacs and turncoats. What's worse,
their semen-scented-free-verse and their penned prevarications
promise romance, thrills and passion, all advantages
not meant for the un-free. They write it down,
or illustrate their thoughts in most simplistic pictures --
with fingertips and pin-pricked blood,
a heart with arrow through it, and your name.