January 7, 2018
From Anarchist Black Cross Tucson (USA)


The bathroom sink cries

As my cellmate washes up.

The day begins like dreaming

some nights are black

as mines.

I blink awake trying to shed some


In the small room of my life,.

A door complains and screeches

As the cell opens.

I can’t put it off any longer

I must rise and clean.

The sun drives light into the dusty air.

It’s time to leave,

The sky has pulled itself together.

It is time… for chow.


See, they return

with an awkward trot, from the hill.

No, not horses;

no curved moon in their brows,

even though stars roll under their feet,

like they rolled for their ancestor, the sun.

Higher! Faster! Hold it!

Murmurs of snow frightened off by the hounds,

the splintering twigs of air.

They’re here! The Wolves!

They who terrify the moon!

And now they’re pursued by darkness

and my voice, yet thin and hoarse.

The darkness hides itself

in its tender unwoven arms,

transforming into a new kind darkness.

Rejected Stone

Reject stone, I used to roll alone

Through his creation, his love is shown,

His love’s for sure, planted in living water

scriptures feed my spirit as I grow,

on hills I stand, through his love I glow

Illuminating paths for those lost below,

Peace and forgiveness were expensive,

I was once a foe

Drowning in sin, covered from head to toe

Blood ripped not sweat,

If it’s your will, I’ll go

All poems by

Thomas J Combs #280904

Cimarron Unit

PO Box 24409
Tucson, AZ 85734

Source: Tucsonabc.wordpress.com