Or. This Malus Thing Never To Be Confused With Justice
By Randall Horton
nothing symbolic. okay. dark is dark—
cage is cage. hunted & hunter are both
in the literal. make believe & what ifs
do not exist: a lie. nothing cryptic here.
okay. rape is rape. prey must pray. no
minute in the future safe from quiet
insertions of a shank in masking tape.
okay. nothing here infinite: only time
is constant to the merciful & merciless—
there are no allegories to hide behind.
he slit his wrists means he slit his f*ckin wrists
okay? there is a cell with one window
just before day. dawn’s early demise
magnifies a dull metal toilet. the cool
water cooling two can sodas. each
wall a slab of soft gray cinderblock, no
posters featuring eroticized women
with an exclusive in black tail. okay.
the wall that slits the light does not
reveal nothing new, ever. the exposé
the changing same: always a holding.
one window offers a gateway. my face
pressed against the window & time
rules this empire. okay. the mind held
hostage by time. mind & body
conjoined twins. the other wall holds
a frame. the frame holds a metal door
to contain utter disbelief. of the visible:
walls are gray not like summer
but darker—yes. there is darkness. okay—