By Tristan Prison does not suit me but I wear a prison suit that fits me. The neck-tie tightening each day, asphyxiation attempting to determine me. My heart’s shattering desires attention, yet is appropriated by moments of vulnerability guarded in fleeting shadows. I am alone here but never alone. The proximity of bodies that are confined with me, tide like a dense fog moving in on me. Traveling on a stranger’s eyes flowing like lava through blackened skies, I wait for an hour where I am not so alone. I am always waitin...