The Courthouse

July 21, 2008
By Gabriel Bump, Chicago, IL

Immortal techniques
Come to the front when I sleep.
Wondering eyes examining my heavenly sheets.
Questions like:
What’s in a right?
Push left on causes.
Lapses in reason cease all cerebral pauses.
How could you judge me?
O mighty stares of the masses,
Fixed glances
Taken the sky as a collage of colorful glasses.
But what happens when all matter
In these days too short?
Scrambling to pass judgment
hiding behind cowardly hands in the court.
So how do suns set
If logic stands still?
Life’s a traveling hex
Placing damnation on the ill.
So I wander past
Paved with
years untold.
And hold
My Place
Among today
Waiting for eternity to get old.
What a sweet present
These times could manifest
If each breath
Met gently with the next.
But here I am
before you
Calmly I stand.
Just a confused man,
Left only my name and my word.
Both condemned as black wool in the wondering heard.
So all I have is nothing,
And this I know.
Tired and chapped lips,
Find death euphorically wrapped in ignorance.
So pass the hemlock, my wonder thirsts
And allow me peace to judge life and death and get back to you on which is worse.

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