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Frank T. Jensen 
A man from St. Petersburg, Florida seeking a change in life, new friends and great opportunities. My days aren't complete unless my name is called for mail. Is there time in your life? I'm versatile; straight or gay, male or female, come chill with me, ease my time. My thoughts are overflowing.
Do you party, play sports, travel or like exotic encounters? Pursuing a friendship that seems unreal? Do you need an open mind, attentive ear or understanding heart? I'd like to know. Call me "Frankie", French-Italian, 5'9", 185 lbs., muscular, hazel eyes and brown hair. I work out, play sports, write and experiment. I'm kind-hearted, witty and a hopeless romantic. I want to regain contact with the outside, send me a smile.
My desires are many. I'm lonely, locked away, exhausted and need encouragement. I would like to receive help in education, books, photos and fantasies. Write and try me. We'll exchange ideas, beliefs, hopes, dreams and relieve our tensions. We'll let our lusts run wild, passion we'll share, your mail my treasure.
Thank you!
Address: Frank T. Jensen #R18771
Taylor Correctional Institution E2112U
8515 Hampton Springs Road
Perry, FL 32348
Birthdate: June 26/1977
Expected Date of Release: 2006-2008 Broke and dismantled in despair, the rhythm collides in paints of illusion.
A portrait of his pain, a vent to his sanity,
When a man cries.
Trampled by the adversaries of deception, illed by the voice of
illusory deviations, the soul withers and frays with currents of
childhood torments, sublimed to levels of intolerance.
The tunnel diludes, the vast array of colors relinquish
When a man cries.
The beaded liquids in the cradle of eye ducts boil, a cheek is
pasteled in radiances of heat, throats swell as shortness of
breath claws in ruthless attacks of anxiety.
A breath deeply drawn, exercised through the blood, calms the storm.
When a man cries.
Understanding drills a path to tolerate, wisdom places her ranks
and knowledge reveals the sought unknowns.
Rest follows the convulsions of the epileptic soul, it foams
the undigested and gags the accepted
When a man cries.
Oh when a man cries the banner of earned victories flags its
coat of arms. The complications and misfortunes weigh in toll,
emptying the sordid man's pockets.
Disappointments burn the expected, restored is the consolation
of contemporary sanity.
When a man cries.
Souls are captive to masters of hope, misled by the
crude fears, anguish bellows from Lo Debar, a paradise
of tormented souls.
Gnashing thrashes of guilt halt, convictions haunting
the mind's orbit cease, disease lies in truth's existence, oracles
of demons cancel, erratic beats of the chambered organ harmonize
Only when a man cries
When a man cries, life may continue...
So cry.
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