Sunday, February 20, 2011

Babble

With cold hands and in square rooms we make / justice: not naïve, no / looking for truth / here, legal or real / truth. Truth! Not guilty does not mean innocent, nor / should it. We make! truth, a room full of lions, once cubs, taught by big men how to roar. We protect defendants not men defending their / children, do we? Widows. Do you know her? Miranda. The tight-lipped lady of justice. Don’t answer me, / smiling, an empty scale. How do they do it in Paris? Heavy. Light. Dark. Was it justifiable, the broke-nose / wife who broke her man with his own gun? A judge is / a referee and referees don’t play. Don’t play. Otherwise the ball can go / home, be kicked; it can kick; it can come back. Later. Like a boomerang, booming around the world, boom! through the white wigs of our fathers, / flying like a ghost through their hair. The son of man has no nest to lay his head but the holy / ghost has. The Constitution, happy men of Babel lifting up their hands.