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First KissTo David Christian Stanfield's next piece

On the Eve of My Sentencing

it's just me now...
everyone else in bed and asleep.
i hear your voice in the silence surrounding the couch
& then it's just us.
just us.  just is.
justice is what the people say
they want, right?  but what is justice?
what is just?  what if it just is, and that's
just the way things are?  what if it's just us,
alone beneath a canopy of stars on this chilly
december evening in virginia.  don't be fooled,
virginia, there was no question in that last sentence.
and tomorrow's sentence?  tomorrow's sentence. 
theonly control i have over that is the punctuation,
you know?  the stray nickel on the carpet by my foot
has more than bought my thoughts this evening, and
jefferson's shiny, silvery face stacked
on monticello claims his ransom:


just like it says on the back of the bill
i insert in the metro terminal farecard dispenser
to take me to court tomorrow.


and so i do,
becasue it just is and it's just us.

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