Jury Doodie

We the people

Swear to you our solemn duties.

Cattle prodded to your steeple

To partake in something legal.

Simpleton on trial.

Victim of my evil.

Subject to my current mood

Although they say,

** "Cast off doubt.

Stay devout to just the facts.

Throw your essence out, and

Please be our machine.

Shed all of your blue and green.

Decay to grey.

Check our arrows.

Turn your metal chest accordingly.

Walk adoringly.

Tighten screws

Inside your robot mind." **


What a plea.

Dark hispanic girl now takes the floor.

Slave to all the rage contained within these double doors.

Still, though, painted smile is her style.

Voicing softly all the facts.

Disregarding this and that: that she may have a mind.

That she may have an aching back from that mammoth rack

She wears up front.

** "Please proceed to bleed your ears for me.

Listen closely to my ghostly whimper.

( psst... but how i burn to have my soul back )

Okay.  Raise your hand up now and whisper,


On this day so crisper than the rest.

I promise to forego that sky so fresh

And put my breath on house arrest

To only breathe through systematic static tests.


Thank you for your time.

Just bide it cleanly until five.

(by then i will be just revived enough to make that drive

to my apartment #5 and die)

Goodbye." **

(smile: off)

Audible cough

From my stranger neighbor

Beats the motor lips

Of the retarded shit

Two seats ahead... Business bloke

Blowing out his mindless smoke

In falsely modest fashion.

** "Blah blah fucking blah.

Whoop dee doo and a goddamn hurrah.

I've been here before

And I know every door and where they lead.

If you can stick with me you'll be just dandy.

Oh and let me fill you in on certain nuances

I'm proud to know. Here. Eat my silly candy." **

Goddamn this man can batter

Eardrums with snare rolls of chatter.

Still it can't compare to all the pitter-patter

Back and forth between the afro-men.

Talking football rules for hours on the end.

How I wonder how their tongues do not get sunburnt

From playing too long under the same old sun.

But... the afro-men are having fun.

Heed my word.

The racial slurs are only meant to paint the blur

That is this room.

Not to make seperation bloom.

In here, we're all equally pathetic:

The clerk, the medic.

The business tycoon with endless credit.

The nurse, The girl too fine for me and too dumb to get it.

Looking down at lowly stranger greeting her and wondering why he said it.

The city and construction worker.

The wannabe poetic,

Sulking in the corner jotting down his every vision

Of the scene as ink and tree collide.

The wannabe poetic.

In the sugar sphere we live he's diabetic.

Writing words so thin and moody.

Prolific only in theory.

The wannabe poetic

Here at jury doodie.

View grahf's Full Portfolio