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The Prose of Cons They write it down in prison linguistics love poems crippled with illiteracy, the scripture of those with too much time on their hands, and little left to live for. They write it down, for us, the gullible public who live for love, or at the very least, the fantastic notion of such a fancy. As if it were enough, they write it down, scribble it upon urine stained walls, the halls of homicidal maniacs and turncoats. What's worse, their semen-scented-free-verse and their penned prevarications promise romance, thrills and passion, all advantages not meant for the un-free. They write it down, or illustrate their thoughts in most simplistic pictures -- with fingertips and pin-pricked blood, a heart with arrow through it, and your name.