that the perfect magistrate
would judge him like a Kantian
and punish him like a Utilitarian;
Maybe then the world wouldn’t be so fucked up.
Maybe then the cosmos would shuffle into line,
and karma would sync up with consequence
and justice would act as an engineer to the defective
concocted headlines that could
entertain the most boring of
Sunday Times readers.
Have you heard?
There are pictures.
That heartless fuck.
He should be shot.
guilt deprives him of rest
when his eyes shutter closed,
his tears could irrigate
a field of new life,
a thousand golden roses and tulips to atone for
Maybe monsters only exist in fiction.