there seems an imbalance
of judgment—
rightfully, for a balanced
platter would not settle
any stomach—
guilt judged innocent does not
weigh half that
of innocence judged guilty,
despite the twin nature
of two very human skins
hanging,
ugly,
on rib-cages of broken stuff—
of greedy stomachs—
scraping our knees in inch-deep pools
samples of perpetuity
(us humans! give us a sample
and we create a new greed!)
a small swirl of blood, and we call it
romance,
reason,
religion—
drowning on all sides of
humanity.
test your clocks and check
your verdict, if judgment
carries some weight of the stars—
imbalance is the only innocence;
the final guilt.