Silence: then voice over
microphone and videotape
rolls—I think of dinner
instead of this black machine
that closes our freighted
mind, rips worker bees
from the colonies of Salary.

I should stand and speak
of my stomach that folds
in on itself to escape;
or how waiting for bail
winds time in reverse.

                  Instead,
deadwater music of nulla bona
rule nisi, per stirpes
ad infinitum.
We are charged to find for
or against, to not discuss
                  what matters.

I remember soft wood, sunlight
that danced in the gauze of dust,
eyelid dreams of Roma tomato
cloved garlic, Vidalia onion;
a well-timed jail break from
the roll call of case number
case name,
                  verdict
verdict.

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