Steel Bars and a Single Sheet

I’m Steely Dan Seymour Butts,
South America, trust me on that.
I can’t pull up my sheet inside
these steel bars anymore: 25 to life.
No man is God in the cold or the clouds.
Isolated poets grab words anywhere
they can find them in newspaper clippings,
ripped-out Bible verses are a sin.
No one pities people like me in prison.
Spiders hang from my cell ceiling,
dance the jitterbug, “In the Mood.”
Jigger bug fleas on my unpainted
cement floors.
My butt is toilet paper brown, flush.
Toxic thoughts grind on my aging
face, body and declining health.
In this dream, I reach
for a hacksaw that is not there.
End this night, and so many more
suffer in just a snore.