/ The Carnival and the Courtroom
The waterbowl level in my hands, I walk unsteady through the carnival.
Now is the hour for exiles, torture, mourning. Some sigh,
some take it easy, some pretend to sleep.
Memory and revenge shake hands, talking peace.
Youth and wrath seem sisters.
They’re all my friends, but they think I come from the land of shadows.
If I follow the drill, it’s not without amusement.
They applaud, relax, chatter nonsense. I’m the knife’s edge.
A man whose petition’s been denied
must be careful returning to time and phenomena.
I consider the testimony. They’ve heard what happened, why I’m popular.
Someone says: “You’re free!”
Someone stirs my desire.
Someone fearful bribes me.
Hippie wisdom, cynicism, harsh or relative demands,
zen, loveless criticism… I have other business, more serious.
If I can find the evidence to clear me, or waive strategy,
the water in my palms will turn to wine.
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