i keep peeking around
these curling corners -

dashing away from
the finger-waggers
who blink
only
when i'm not
in this predicament

when i'm not
kissing the sides of this
yellowing frame -
still holding fast
to that
ensnared moment
i've deemed
too late to make
unholy

unabashed and tall
in the courts of
low-faced jurors
who **** their teeth
at my soiled apparel
and glare down
over horn-rimmed
frames

demeaning demeanors
in mean-streak persons
demand dumb perfection
in too black

tattered
robes.