i am gathering up a jury of dead things;
some you killed and
some that died to make room for you.
those dead things, they lie cold and speak—
every ghost rises up to testify against you.
but i won’t hear the voices of the standing dead—
i reject the testimony from the grave,
i deny the boundtotruth witnessing of bones.
i believe only the assessments of living things;
biased fallible selfish distracted
they stand breathing, warm and inferior,
without complete access to the information
measuring out an opinion without knowing
What Happened;
delivering, alive, a frail and rosy verdict.
only the dead speak the truth,
but much too quiet,
and much too late.
i
breathe
and
breathe
and
clear you of all charges.
