Letter To the Judge

dear Judge if you were me, would you do what I did because of the roots of my hair some shadowy gulf gods got hold of me and they laughed while they held me in the howling fjord where my grandfather once mopped their bathrooms and my father became himself Satan’s Cheerleader on their fields till buckets of drafty sentiments took him away my family has grown like prominent objects held tight by the fingers of piggy fishy air and after sad diagnostics they sizzled in volts drowned in pickling fluids while their children missed a mother’s love and her beans on Fridays and forever they now wait to free their laughter if you were me, would you do what I did for centuries we’ve walked through a voiceless lawn enshrouded by whirlwinds surging through nights have you ever tasted our drafty sentiments for a day I wish you did to know the burden of agony we carry in the long sweep of human history were you not there when certain nostrils prickled on pale faces and they dug up false Darwinism sentiments at night then they hoisted innocent frames between envy and hate between man and beast between darkness and blindness and the young frames blazed like a bonfire at Easter if you were me, would you do what I did honorable judge why is it that all you know of me is Ben Craig