a poverty of justice
a sea of life between
the suited side of court rooms
and the innocent steam

if only worked like water
the innocence that steams
from the focus of the court room
in such comfy, heated seats

the fact that we are equal
is easy seen from here
with beads of sweat collecting
on my head of buzzing fear

cause i fear your every bias
and predilections, scorns
and if i speak of my concerns
will you call it my retort?

and yes i lost my temper
i'm also working hard
but you have dispositions
and an old book
and some cards

and i
have a tender
juicy heart