30.
The skin of my fingers and bristled
hairs on neck-back -
brutal Douglas county
courthouse
everyone in stultified
lines to the judgement.
Apologetic attorneys.
Blanket legal forms and chips-in-paint
courthouse high ceiling.
I sometimes wonder how anyone
in their right mind took the trouble
to draw up all these laws enforced
by people employed to papers in rooms
at the top of granite steps.
Blossom gloom of anger cells
and a stale heavy creep in the lower
guts, nothing grey colored
standing under the topless
half dressed scales of justice
woman, blindfolded, ready
to go like all socialized rapes
under Midwest full moons in all nude
juicer bars and meth-head dying
deaths.
You can go off into the night and never
come back, never be seen or
heard from again.
If you go far enough into the hungry
flat void of Nebraska, no
one will be around to hear
the shotgun blast. Small towns
dry up like splintered leaves
and memories have
a voice when the wind whispers
through the dry husks
of fall.
(September 16th, 2014)
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