Verdict A-Pox-Be

Steel charisma broken free

Congregate amongst

A gaggling of sums

If hope concludes prior to verdict,

Does eternity rest entirely?

Upon such darkened days,

 A judge, man, pretender, garbed in silk—

 Unveils judgments, predicated by mortal law,

As spoken by a chorus of peers

Crowds, the stimulus deprived, crash-watchers

Merge with the anti, all in the name of show

Beneath the guise of justice,

Saunter stands in arrival formation,

Gathering amongst their sects,

There, at such time,

Outside the courthouse—

Beneath its steps,

Chants spew forth—

And the names of the devoutly fallen,

Echo, well prior to any announcement

or final rendering, promoting the semblance

of relation, where deities easily strike a similarity of fear through

Transformation as evinced from bolts flung from clouded cover

In such episodes of regression,

Fate appears predetermined,

Perhaps a cyclicality of prophecy

Shall flood the mental indices

So easily man casts man

Under condemnable outlines

Skirts of what once Is

The color of blood stirring under flesh

Means nothing

The accuracy of ruling is secondary

To the corralling of public sentiment

For the face of the betrayed

Shall eventually watch his last hours dwindle past

Shall eventually see that last mile strolled

Until the color of blood stirring under flesh

Mingles with serum made by flesh

Thus ending any visual reminder

Of the judgments we once crawled begging for

Justice and her scales

May as well reconstruct the garden labyrinth

I’d assume the beast found there

Will lend much more just an ear

Mechanical Claws and Guillotines

Chasing the mechanical claw

Into cabanas, run to strip

Outfits clipped before the Tiki flame

         Discovering hanging nails

Feel no pain

         Fragile dichotomist

Blending thick

                  The rationale of a slouching pessimist

Into the frothing arms of hope rustlers- dribbling along, hair slicked back as they pass along, equipped with antenna high, enough to catch the temperaments wide

Vanity is proclaimed

Acclimated as order

Shown the seams

Bathed with justice’s daughter

         Knock on door makes a hollow sound

Hollow flavor once more, even though the scene couldn’t be more clarified

Occupado/occupied

         Just in case foreign fingers flick knuckles into

Rat-a-tat-tat, rapping again and again..

         Shut up I swear I’ll kill you…

Arresting looks received

Eyes start drifting

She better not reach for the buckle

Better not kick the shoes on

                  A MAN CAN”T PERFORM WITH ALL THIS PRESSURE

Quarantine

Five fellows dined on a meat-filled donut

To which they exposed their innards out

Created mass discombobulated screams

Breckenridge

Skiing

Slopes of downy flakes

Frosting up the arterial landscape

Rubbing palms together

For warmth

Then use that heat

To wipe away the fogged window space

Buckle up

         A job well done

                                                      Rolling eyes

Toss a coin

         To the sentinel by the door

A timid fringe look upon the scowling upper lip

         Twip twip…peacock’s got some plumes

Kick up those spurs

         Clink clink…

Looks they come but I don’t care

         I’m rocking away in old justice’s chair

All darn night if I choose

Not a law around here I can’t abuse

Broken staccato

Encumbered legume

Senility

Lying fleshed

Provoking enjambments

Hardly created for purposes of this ilk

Guillotines, HA,

Sharp blades to necks

Peacocks

Exposed

HA, Guillotines

Poached remnants

Of puffy lips

Chasing the mechanical claw

Sometimes leads you to the bull in the center of the bar

Some days you’ll find justice saves

         And others…

You’ll find not to piss justice’s daughter off

Bounty

Undocumented

Roped into a corner

By men with dollar sense in their eyes

         “Would it make a difference, any at all, if I blamed it on the man outside the stall?”

         Arms held by each the companions’ swift marching feet

         So fast in fact the floor beneath

         Became but grazed by the tips of my feet

Into a room,

So decadent and dark

Through the seventies beads used for a door

         And their stands old Justice with a glass and a cigar

“I don’t suppose that’s water there in that glass?”  trying my best to speak in a similar accent

         Notched his brow and tipped his brim

                  Never once connecting Vis a Vis to dear old me

But I Knew, once he said, “Clear the room” that the outlook for me would be mighty grim.

         Then he spoke but one more time as his daughter waltzed through the opposite side, dragging something behind her back,

         “DISASSEMBLY” Justice sharked out again, just one word in a tone that couldn’t be proper for a man of law

         Wriggle, jiggle, tossing about, yet I couldn’t elude the grunts holding my arms

And at this point the glowing daughter embraced my face, was but a little bit ago-sure she could taste her taste, but even so…

         She yanked at the rope that she dragged tow,

Berated sure, but I’ve got tough skin,

         Confidence in the system beamed from within

Lawmen won’t do what dangerous folk think to do

That’s when the confidence drained, as the daughter’s gift

Came to be saw, to which all could be said “ Guillotine, ha, ha, ha”