do you know how it feels like
to live
for one year
without writing one word,
captive within a grape,
pounding against the membranous,
transparent
walls of your cell?
so many days
since i wear handcuffs of light,
so many hours
since my wounds suppurate poetry.
restlessly scratching the cellulose bars
i was left with a fine plaster of verses
under my fingernails.