The Prisoner (Eight By Ten) - Spring

The dripping taps unnerving stare

Conducting songs I’ll never share

Cross my mind

Accompaniment to a charred Kettles whine

Is a cold and real awesome sign

I still Find

Friends aren’t waiting

Contemplating

Or concerned in

My returning

Winters frost turns my fingers white;

Fog that stirs and blurs my sight

Shrouds the Town

The darkened shadow to whom I talk

As catacomb like streets I walk

Weigh me down

Earths illuminated centuries

Can’t enlighten penetentiaries

Dropping coins that seem to laugh

The morning’s milk guards the Path

Shows the sign

Eight by Ten on the second floor

Fumes that creep beneath the door

End my time