The thing about a cell

...is it becomes cozy;
The enwalled heart
comes to cherish
Each speck of grit,
And the tiny melodramas among them
Make world enough
For quite a spell.

Is it any wonder then
That when the crooked turnkey
Cracks at last the lock
The sear of out
Contracts one's self
Into a shell?

Is is is becoming
And it transpires
That scale proves a fallacy...
Out in the free air,
Given time,
One finds room to,
Ecstatic three, swell.