whoa; when did I write this?
justify our jejune bond
left empty in awkward
stares and drained hands
justify the coyness, the
gaiety of our general
gaze broken
with liberty and justice
for all? retreat to your
cartel and justify your
infidelities with blood
money and complicated
loves.
escape to lands less justified
than this and gloat in your
relative justice with the
secrets you perjured--
no, there's no justice
in your justification
you're not you, not the
justice romantics desire.
justice? just this:
i've got a secret love
in the cigars and sombreros.
just this:
tricked you.