And so part of the manuscript that I'm working on actually--
so these are poems about incarceration,
about being on the inside and all that.
But I think I'm trying--
I want to bring a different aspect, a perspective in terms
of being on the inside, and being a poet,
and what does that mean?
Like you can imagine outside of the world.
So there's a section in here tentatively titled
like "Poet in Residence."
[LAUGHTER]
I'm just saying.
But the poet can actually-- does things--
steps outside of these physical barriers, as all poets do.
And so I think we need-- that is-- so that
was kind of important to me.
Like, yeah, these poems speak on this issue.
But as a poet, man, you can talk about other things, too.
So, yeah.
"289-128, Poet in Residence" "Cell 17,
old photograph of winter taped to my wall.
Over my girl's winter negative, cityscape pigeon shit
remains hidden behind throngs of urban dwellers.
Perhaps these humans daydream too
hard to speculate in a Polaroid.
Each random stiff and objective unknown.
Are names important?
I think not.
I imagined the street vendor on Broadway singing
into a Korean woman's ear.
It might rain today, buy an umbrella.
Perpendicular to this random act, two men
hug goodbye at the metro rail forever.
Love withers without sound amid pedestrians.
I can tell winter age fast with each incoming season,
the greater transformation noticeable.
And this municipal will peak into a time gone.
The city once known, unrecognizable."