A shivering mass in a cold-lit courtroom,
slunked skinny in government issue chair,
the lone “ring leader” sat in grim-lip stare.
Straight ahead at nothing in particular upon
a judge’s dispassionate immovable face, the
charged steered a red-rimmed vision eroded.
A shuffle, a gurgle, a sigh, a sniff and a cough,
and the whole matter was decided on a whim.
Scales tip in no one’s favor but the beholder.
A life’s mere matter, flesh forged in fire image
and fluttering time, like dust on butterfly feet.
And the revolving door justice spun 7’s today.