[The Exit]
Make haste, Kevin, quickly flee
to be with lost companions.
The legal lion
roared, scored and soundly procured
your needed release.
T-shirts and briefs smartly rolled,
seven shirts packed with crisp folds,
socks and toiletries
arranged with accessories
beneath well pressed pants
are stored according to plan
in one, small bag by night stand.
Scanning bright, white walls
and light cream-colored dresser
pivot slowly, please,
to pierce wakeful dreams.
Poised by green bedspread pulled tight,
having gained the right,
clutch this closed door’s cold handle
frozen shut by bold
indifferent words extolled
to clam fleet-footed mindful
wits seeking to click
the brass latch that catches quick
the truth of thresholds:
You can go through as you will
to feel the chill of fresh air.
Reach and greet your choice.
Be sure. Open the closed door.
It’s the corridor!
One step through and to the left
pursue next the Common Room
where threshold two looms
unbarred, coaxing your trespass
through contrived friendships
equipped with tight lips secured
to horde facts of dark matter
carefully scattered
about the large Common Room
in living caverns
of other souls suffering
similar displaced disgrace.
From sleeping quarters
through entangled lives congealed
steal to threshold three
that reveals concealed lost lives
newly placed in haste to grace
The Admission’s Wing,
prelude to the outside door
before the foyer.
Three steps through, to the right, pause,
because pardoned flight-seekers
need Gate-Keepers’ key
knotted on long leather straps
wrapped tight around belt:
Tiny, shiny, jagged-edged,
metal protrusion slipped through
to push against pins,
slim oblong rounded small rods,
minute barriers,
spring loaded metallic pods,
coaxed into set positions,
coded conditions,
for specific keys that free
cylinders to turn
earning safe passage over
shear line’s unblocked guarded gap.
Heavy hard wood door
swings wide begging you to slide
into the next trap.
With West Wing door now secured
you stand before the last door
dead-bolted and firm
against signed writs exodus
by the unpardoned.
Stalled you’re only slightly stunned
by your swift recollection
of veiled limbo lands.
Having left, you’re not yet gone
in want of a key
again to free one more block
of persistent barriers,
purveyors of grit
that set your clenched teeth to ache
and forsake comfort.
[The Salutation]
Well Kevin, remember we’re here
to help when there’s a need
to secede from the random world
of diverse impulses hurled unchained
to gain brief reprieve from one’s pain.
You should stay, but either way . . .
[Marlo continues]
There are many times
when borders fade and Kevin
speaks internally
to the dark shadowy shade
made for tired, coarse discourse.
I can hear metal
scrape metal to shear silence
from my alert ear
as key thrusts crooked cavern
to seduce one more yearned turn,
And behold sunlight
indirect between tree leaves
that enhance blue sky
where white clouds ride Wind’s soft breeze
that will tease a gentle smile
from sad, tortured soul
reconciled by Earth’s girth
and my innate worth.
Step through to your outside life,
smell fresh turned dirt and cut grass.
Gasp large gulps of air
to repair your housebound lungs.
Rebirth has begun.
[The Emancipator, William Hastings]
Where to, reprieved Kevin Jacobs?
Make haste to the nearest steakhouse?
[Marlo]
Compton’s champion basks
in the glory of words cast
from gilled tongue flapped
to resonate waves of force
to change the downtrodden’s course.
[Kevin]
Bill you’re my hero.
Good William Hastings the Third,
Fierce Legal, Feared Cur.
Diminishing past fades more
with each step towards distant shores.
Compton sent you here
to steer my lost course I fear,
But how will I heal?
[Marlo]
Compton is truly more real
in substance met through absence.
[Kevin]
To the Atlantic!
Frantic souls crave steady waves
that wash frauds away.