The non-transitive nature of poetry and prisons

Pain rhymes with again
And again with pen
But not pen and pain
Then again
They share a thought the same
A hollow question
Held within a frame:
When...when?

The paradox of sinking

Didn't need to know the number
Knew it was a bummer
Waiting for the floor
And sinking lower
Under under
Under. Pop.
It's over.

A stone in a wind

A stone
in a wind
alone
is ripped
to dust
and blown.
so too might
any bone.

The blown
dust
settles
down
to start
another stone.
ever another
and alone.