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.
"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"
In the gaze of the other 