We will need a town,
a famous face, and some resolution.
An old curse carved from uncooperative sun;
the day fading before film
can be loaded, night left to hunt
the dawn. A monument or cathedral, a jail
for those who fear waking alone.

The judge will reconvene the court
once the world is reset; edited
down and broadcast without flaws
to violate the rules of aura.
Transgression will be granted in the frames
whirling across a shower of light.

Attention brought in the precision of a motor
to the irreverent and dispensable
sitting just below.
Justice is a world with obituary.
We seek each other out, between these thin lines,
transmitting what was inherited,
a crop of accusation, contempt.