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on my fridge
is a sheet
of yellow notebook paper
worn at the edge
from intent,
trigger happy,
fingers.

"is your warrant signed by a judge?"
those words are lighthearted

to a few, who
escape the thumbs
of law boys.

so clear,
their flesh.
no ink

blots on records
kept clean
by the sweatless brow
of towers so high
that clouds
veil gargoyles gazing imperiously
at each passerby.

"is your warrant signed by a judge?"
to the few who've become many
Those words are heavy,
too heavy
for  

Borne ink

blots falling from plumes
of justices too weak
to hold a bar

examinations recorded in each drip
down the corrugations
of a city center obelisk

worn at the edges
by the sculptor's blade
and the broken shields of
pawing prisoners
put away like leftover

Schools of sardines
swimming circles above the stone
pinwheel of old codes
kept real by the rise

and fall of handsome abusers
Hard done by.

"Is your warrant signed by a judge?"
Brian McDonagh Aug 2018
When the night silently whooshes
Over the sky,
It becomes that time of day,
The time to recline
And watch Dwayne Chapman and friends
Apprehend the wanted and charged
In the Hawaiian splotches of land.
Every cut to commercial
Happens at the ****** of each episode,
Starving the soul for what might happen...
When really the cut-scene continues
With less action than Beth, Dwayne,
Leland, Sonny, Cleo,
And Baby Lyssa may stir before a break.
Cars, cameras, and people
Move in hot-pursuit.
And thus the setting of the TV series
Isn't the only dimension
Captured.
I love Dog the Bounty Hunter lol one of my favorite TV series lately!
r0b0t Jul 2014
Have you been
sleeping in my bed
Have you been
sleeping in my bed
because I found
the traces
of your skin
the traces of your skin
Have you been sleeping in my head
because I found
the traces of your thoughts
trailing through my skull
with a warrant for my sanity
crushing my soul
with a warrant for my sanity
on a one man police force
trying to stop me
from breaking through your skin
and injecting myself
an IV of pain and amphetamine
muscle relaxers and a single tiny
white pill
to break through your thoughts
and find my place
to settle down
and sleep.
This might be more song than poem. I don't know. It seems like its been forever since she left. It hasn't even been two weeks.

— The End —