All your fading smiles
In the cities in her eyes
and all you broken memories
and all your jaded lies

The promise of life
                                  spread over Sumerian scroll
                                                                                    surprise prose of the soul
like when the stream of water bursts through trickling riverbanks and turns to behemoth gushings of clear and conscious life paralleled only by man-made train tracks through these green pastures and serene hereafters

How empty the feeling
of standing under broken skies
when the moonlight beckons all those lonesome, home
Or how the baggies breach branches on the oak trees
on a park before town
where empty beer cans swivel in brilliant winds
and kids dare not go
for the guns come out in droves
- firing squad of the soul

Defective synapse
broken
              relapse
In the club
turned all the way up
and nowhere to go that can be called home
Turn a *****
Dab dab draw
Break mirrors
                        /memories
Icy breath
Dicey left
The corner-boy man-child sweet-teen sensation
Reciprocation of deprecation
Juice twos ***** loose lose the news today
Break mirrors
                        /realities

So I wrote a novel
and named it after her

Passed out cold by a grungy bathtub on the floor by a damp blue towel
Did you know the devil is on his way
Stumbled up the stairs, beer spilled over the red cup lip
and dilated red eyes pounding in the dark
Until he sees her, Passed out cold by the grimy bathtub on the floor by a few damp green towels
The lock works well and the room feels hot
Bare naked steam that rises to a precipice under the mirror on the wall
condensates on the frosted glass window above the cistern
CIS white male sits and ponders, thinking man statue
She groans lazily, twisting her body on the **** stained shaggy rug
And so he sees up her skirt and desires to reign down on her
and also she probably wants (t)his(...)
and she is moaning, yes, yes she must be moaning

In fact, maybe she moans no
or maybe they're both drunk
and who's to blame really
Since she willingly came to this affair, with eyes for indulgence
The alcohol and molly, the addys and the xannies, Oh, and too the **** and the speed and the **** and the Ket
Young lust, young love, youngsters all crying, from rooms up above
Also, that he was invited by friends under the stipulation of "his choice of *****" and there he was, dear reader, making decisions
(as all men are trained to do)
because his parents lied and his country lied and our society lies daily
When we/he are/is told that we have freedoms, freedom of choice, and, speech, and not... speech
But anyway, the story remains, or more so, the stories remain
Since obviously that is why we are here
To judge the guilty party

But I put it to you, ladies and gentleman and non-binary people of the jury
Should we not first judge the mirrors and pristine plate glass windows
or the spoons in the cutlery drawer that bear our reflection
In that moment that only we exist
In that beautiful sin of vanity
Should we not judge the confines of the rigorous prejudices and fear that we call society
Should we not contest the very notion of civilization when we act,
in ways described in this court today or in the ways,
you very people have acted or will act
Should I, myself, the writer of such a contrived, pretentious piece of...
Should I not judge myself
I put it to you, whoever you are
that
That today, you can change the world