The f***ing cops at the Jackson street police station do not let me use the telephone for three days. It is not until I inform them that I have another court appointment on the third day and that they would have to escort me there if I am still in lock-uP^.  And I say that I will tell the judge there about their not letting me use the phone that is when they let me use the phone.  The second night I am put in a large overcrowded cell with forty or fifty loonie-tunes trying to get through the bars by yelling most of the night.  We are piled uP^ on the damp concrete filthy floor.                   

Through the Bars

Dark damp concrete coated with laying souls chained next to next to next in rows         

How many links am I feeling are my new personal properties between neighbors

Twelve across me six to the left and six to the right and ends of souls on chain not in sight

Who created us why are we here alive crimes of times

Faint view of form dematerializing to vapors escaping and empty chain links concrete clunk

New prisoner to replace the place on the lane of chain of lain wasted what

How many others are created as the departed through the bars maybe me 

Called to be here called to not knowing called to prepare the going I can do too

Watch his atoms separating in to ghost consistency and flying release

No one sees and notices that is two now and am I called to go through the bars

Manacles of minds of chained slaves thrown overboard for insurance policy

God points the ring at me I am created to be free through my body I can see

Whirling globes celestial components of my vaporizing body form through the bars

Flying flying flying I finally know why I am flying I am created to be God wants me

Through the bars

     There is no sleep for the wicked.  This is understatement in this place.  The de-humanizing  is of American monumental impressiveness.  What really f***ing bothers me is that most of those and these real people in this stinking place are merely remanded for plea; they, most of us are still and may remain innocent according to the law, yet we have the most harsh treatment in this police lock-uP^.  We are citizens who are paying the f***ing wages in this place.  It is fine for another citizen to say well a criminal must pay his debit to society, butTt we here have not been to court yet and we all are already condemned by this fascist police force.  During the night I spy with my little eye that there seems to be some sort of conspiracy directed toward the only anglo-wado in the pig pile.  Then it happens: 

About to be Pissed on in Brownsville Lock-uP^ (true) 

(loook uP^ drip-drip)

40 Men on the floor mostly

innocent

Untried tied souls soles toes too curled uP^ on 

cement

HEY! 4:00 A>M> rambler what you

doing with your pants

I'm the only white-boy-here

don't make any further advance

Rising^ Oh No You Don't! put it over there

Directed to the urinal hole he decided

to depart

His load upon a fellow Nation's Al

he had missed his Mark

slamm slamm guard enters deposits appropriate blows drags him away

    During my three days of torture and waiting for my entitled prompt court ordered phone call to bail bondsman there is a rather insane constantly yelling-kicking-banging inmate in my same predicament:  “telephonOOOO guardia telephOOOO!!!!!”  And I join him in chorus to of course no avail butTt I already know that it is futile to yell since they have proven lack of humanity already butTt he, Mr. Insanity, does think it will help.  He has been “in” so many times that he has a regular bondsman that he calls the angel of mercy.  A-one bailbonds and telephonOOOO # is relayed to me.  And I finally call after much coersion.  And I am out butTt I must pay twice the rate of interest because I am a Canadian and supposedly I am more of a risk for flight.  The angel has landed.

     I am to have a meeting with an anglo f***head prosecutor, Mr. Thompson, who will decide if they should preceed.  He has made uP^ his mind before meeting me.  I think that there is a Good Ole Girl hiding in the soup somewhere, I can smell the fish by my wasted trip of truth: She is a liar and a thief and I can prove it and I am innocent, is disregarded by this useless investigator and I tell him so.  And I tell him what the Browntown cops are in the habit of doing and he only gives a shit where his paycheck is picked uP^ at the Ole’s command.  “You sure do not suck uP^ to someone who can get this matter thrown out.”  He says to me at this pretrial meeting.  I only tell the truth I tell him.  “Seventy per cent of cases never get to court; we offer a plea bargin if you plead guilty.”  He says.  “Innocent is innocent.”  I have to see the judge for a plea and to secure a court appointed lawyer.  Bobby Lerma is the son of an old retired Judge Lerma and he is sucking off  and gasping on daddy’s droppings and drippings.  Lerma gives me no appointments requested by me and mom at least ten times.  Lerma gives me no correspondence.  Lerma’s secretary hand me a cell phone with which he threatens me with get out of my office, leave my secretary alone or I’ll call the cops.  This is my lawyer.  I go to the county of Came moron court clerk to complain about Lerma and she tell me that she is the very secretary’s best friend and that I would have to call a meeting with Lerma, the Judge, and the prosecutor in order for me to complain so she suggests that I merely wait until the first time that these pigs are all at the same trough and I can tell them about Lerma’s professional neglect at that time.  So I wait. 

     About a year goes by and then I go to court.  The judge is sick and there is a fill-in judge so I must come back.  The next trial date no Judge shows uP^.  The next trial date I get the very new Good Ole Girl eX-prosecutor-UTB-alumnist judge, Janet Leal.  This trial Is suspended because the prosecutor has not sent out any sopenas because he can not find Linda; she has given them a false address and phone number.  Linda does not want to come to court to lie to cover uP^ her previous perjury of police statement.  I have my first conversation with Lerma.  “Do not worry, I can guarantee you that they will throw it out at the next trial, they can not find her or one of the cops will not show and the judge is a friend of mine.”  “Do you want to know about the case?  I ask him.  “There will be plenty of time before the next court date on that same day, a few hours before.  If it come to that.  Do you know where she is?”  He tells me and asks me.  “Sure, not that I care, she is in Sulpher Springs working at the personal care home there.  A so-called friend of mine came and helped her steal three cars loaded with things from the house right after she had me arrested and while I was tortured in Jackson Street cop f***ing shop for three f***ing days.  He, Randy Stan, lives by there in Texarkana.  I do not want to provoke any unfriendly testimony from Linda and I am not a rat so I am wanting for the outcome of these charges before I try to get her arrested for car theft.”  There is to be another trial.  I go to the municipal court for “failure to identify” trial and I win and My two hundred f***ing bucks is refunded.  Browntown mini-pig SerRata got his lies mixed-uP^ and he did not know the page of the criminal code book that I referred to which states that you have to already be detained or arrested before you have to identify yourself; or if you give a false identity; so I win round one butTt Judge Neece says stop harassing the cops and that he hopes that they getTt me in the next court.  He is quite the impartial Judge.  I think that if I did not research the penal code book that he would have railroaded me.