Comes now the Plaintiff, praying for restitution

There is a term for this:
(in Latin, which always conjures
Antique Legitimacy--
Slight of hand impressing weak of mind)

Damnum absque injuria

But we, being legal realists,
Learned that this was only code --
What the law hasn’t figured out yet
(appropriate, I suppose, because I cannot
understand it either) --

Anymore than I could understand
Why her mother slipped away
(while we tried with forced laughter
to make lemon cancer)
Piece by piece, swollen face belying
Wasted body, wasted mind
Such waste !

These books. I outlined while she died
The exam (my guilty conscience),
It was scheduled. No goodbye.
(The least I should have done)
Criminal. It was criminal.


What did I learn?
Only what the law can’t know
And what we wish it to—
(Did I call? I wish I had called
At least.)


No answer. No answers here –
In the mockingly austere
(Langdell’s siren song)
Like our laughter. Like Latin.
Like lawyers. A gloss on the wrong.

No remedy
In God or in Law


But we know that it is wrong.

Eon

Dean of Cyberspace
A contradiction in terms?
no authority but legitimacy
no legitimacy but what we believe
(american idol judges all)
What do we believe? Our own
Our own story.
Tell us best the workings of our mind

Thinking in pieces. Fragments the best way
Breadcrumb trail
A direct examination. No leading questions
We tell our own story
in your words