The regiment parades

past the empty wicker chair
wound so tight against

the frame it protects
that supports it

to occupy a singular purpose

steps timed so even
the bell tower cowers

the brick and mortar of
parliament watching

knowing no matter
how right the angles

are always justified.

Still empty on the balcony
years after such painstaking assembly

tendons unraveling
integrity caving

beneath the weight
of mere weather

ghosts drift through
its avenue in snow.

Homecoming from
that war was quieter.

The bells tolled
victory desperately

and widows stayed
indoors for decades

wrapped in shawls
the mantle clocks unwound.

Their mending
was unrivaled.

for no reason

with half a brain

certain falsehoods contribute
to the greater good;

meddlesome truths
just get in the way
of their artificial obstacles.

The best science, stained
with speculation, leans,
its cornerstone set
in slow quicksand, while

the ever-stable steeple
(though built of contradicting tilts)
never dares waver
(though it’s able).

Don’t you think
the best decisions
are mostly heart and gut,

the hunch of justice
crouched to pounce
on weighing options?

Anything slightly impure
is a lure: mindblowing breadcrumbs
lead us back and
draw us in -

for no reason
could do as well
to ration our glitches
we demand be activated.

So this timeless tick -
our insatiable bliss -
gorges always at the trough
of necessary ignorance.

such a point of view

Was the defendant bribed
or did he win a bet?
asks the lawyer's 

severed hand.
And here enter
computer chips

programmed with precendents
seeking to bring
the founding fathers

back to life
as what-if robots
(upon which the jury realizes

most of them were assholes).
If assholes had eyes, how important
such a point of view

would be - pushing out and pinching off
all honesty, each calculated waste
honing their hindsight.

Featured Image: still from “The Bathhouse” © Federico Solmi