Was it a day like this – real unreal – back and forth before the trial? With limited information, fixed inflexible? Zero sum maneuvers for a cantankerous minority.
Was it something like the time – before the end – a contemptuous and cursing generation? Cruel. Contentious. Blank and scrambled by a practiced prejudice. An incredulity of another kind – all weak links and whipping boys. Barking dogs and criminal liability.
Was it the noise and distraction of your own design – the echo of your own desires? Bloody sacrifice and ritualized verbal abuse. Bleeding from a conformist facelift. Strange standards of privilege and spite.
Was it the chasm
between death and fear?
Was it the delusion of power?
Was it the movie
version of your grandiose ambition?
Was it a physical phobia?
Was it a battle –
won or lost – destructive, self-destructive? Manipulative monopoly
without moderation. Privatized supremacy. Ownership of damaged goods.
A measure of power, by wealthy, by blood, by marriage, ascendant.
Was it covered up?
Was it destroyed?
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