Thursday, 1 March 2012

Your Honour

tonight I bleed a deviant intramural
spring wash along ten brittle channels
jammed into veiny eyes shocked wide
at pulsing cinnabar spread on the script
where I draw the foul ledger of charges laid
squarely against me though I answer yet
every one singularly in third person text
as witness to my own prosecution
but at every objection I perjure myself
so must stomach the sentence and practice the tense

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