saint elizabeth's

they are closing
down
the old
red brick insane
asylum
off south capitol
street.
crazed poets
have been there
like ezra, but all
them were
poets in some
shape or form.
outside of the nine
to five. finding
another way
to get where they
had to be.
you remember
them, walking by,
thin and wild eyed
behind the wide
spaced bars, staring
and talking
aimlessly at
their own muse.
how well you know
them.