The Traitor

In the watchtower of my mind
I watch myself escape over the barbed wire
of the breath and tunnel under the hedgerow
of disappointment.

My handiwork is noteworthy.
Hands full of abrasions from the digging
and the mind shaved close to the bone
to look like the prisoner I am.

If I could charter a seaward ship
bound for nowhere
I would.

I am a traitor
of my own practice.
I am a silent thief
waiting to be released
on my best behavior.