Guilt

I remember that young man
or at least I think I do
all memory
might be a memory
of a memory of a memory
like a dressing room
with dual facing mirrors
a re-reflected diminishment of you
fat, tits and genitals hanging
there and there and there
and smaller and smaller and smaller
what I think may have been
who knows…
even in the court of law
where that rational light of justice shines
on a jury shown surveillance camera footage
of a brutal police beating
in the documentation of the past
we are all not guilty

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