Leg shackles and flip-flops.
Hard drive. Search and seizure.
Federal grand jury.

I wouldn’t have believed it
if you hadn’t admitted it.

What kind of solace could it have been?
What kind of solace can be had now?

Will you survive by disassociating,
selecting personas
from your pile:
                    Mr. Pariah
                   Mr. Remorse
                   Mr. Disgrace?

Go on and narrate
as you shuffle by the howling rabble.

Go on and tell yourself,
as the cell door clangs,
this is someone else’s story.

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