prisoner’s cinema

he hands me the alcohol
i hold out the fuse
his face is splendid, soaked in soul
shiny overripe, splitting at the sour edges
gashes hewn to reveal exotic red and puffy insides
his axe has taken to the watermelon

his fingers bind tight knots that grow into skin
and burrow perpendicular into golden feasts
snipping threads in flesh – blessed foetus carving out
path slicked, a slow rotation, eight months and a quarter
the suns stalk down the Eastside path
sheathing their eyes, slotted neatly in sockets
their suits spit the sunday flavour of firing squad

and into confectionary waters
he swallow-dives
i bellyflop


The title refers to the light forms (visual hallucinations) which appear to prisoners in solitary confinement or those in deep meditation in the dark for long periods of time, deprived of visual stimuli. They sometimes report visual flashes that are close to real, but somehow distorted in ways they cannot precisely describe.