SONNET FOR THE COMPTROLLER

by Beth Cleary

He is showing us what to say, how to be, when
they come for us: upright, measured in tone and gaze,
Do you have a judicial warrant? You do not have 
the authority to arrest U.S. citizens. Show me
your judicial warrant. These are the ways, the phrases,
memorize them. I have memorized them, in the night
when footage of the arrest—I am not
obstructing anything I am standing here—replays
in the basement of my heart, near where my diaphragm
tucks up, presses down, basement where I store
cups, snippets, grains of information, instructions
for later. For when they come for us, soft body and cheek
jammed against a pillow/wall, gloved hands breaking our backs.

Beth Cleary's essays and poems appear in Ninth Letter, The Maine Review, Artist & Influence, Fourth Genre, and other publications. She lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, where the main No Kings! march was upwards of 60,000 strong despite shock about assassinations, unknowns about an active shooter, and warnings to stay away. 

AFFIDAVIT IN SUPPORT OF SEARCH WARRANT

by Michel Steven Krug 

Seizing the day requires the magistrate of the self to review sworn internal testimony, some of which is redacted by your affiant, as justified, to preserve dignity, when in fact the heavy black asphalt that covers those undisclosed confidential sources, is to preserve self-deception, that bleeds, when heated like molten lava, over all that which is tacit and evident. It is not unreasonable to search the house of the self, reviewing the papers and effects written on internal walls, like semi-ancient hieroglyphs and experiences that don’t belong to you. Therefore, access and seizure, are requested as follows:

1. In the chamber of the xxxxxxxxxxxx will be found ************************************************************************ recordings.
 
2. Between the webbing of the XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX from the Davos Conference.
 
3.In the serpentine lining +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++is currently indecipherable. 
 
4. Amid the left-side quadrant of the papillae ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~. toxins.
 
5. Your affiant has personally spoken with ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^, who confirms that $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ has been identified in 141 different locations of the ==============================================, including the bathroom.
 
Your affiant acknowledges that it undoubtedly feels violative, but only by seizure, inspection and reflection, elucidating each and every probable cause, can the path from Top Secret to transparency be realized. Ironically, without the seizure, the soul is defacto arrested, shackled, seized, like a sci fi attack, spilling all over others. Some admire audacity. Others condemn it. But no other remedy short of this relief will suffice.

Further your affiant saith not.

Michel Steven Krug is a Minneapolis poet, fiction writer, former print journalist from the Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars and he litigates. His poems have appeared in Liquid Imagination, Blue Mountain Review, Jerry Jazz Musician, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Portside, The New Verse News, JMWW, Cagibi, Silver Blade, Crack the Spine, Dash, Mikrokosmos, North Dakota Quarterly, Eclectica, Writers Resist, Sheepshead, Mizmor Anthology, 2019, Poets Reading The News, Ginosko, Door Is A Jar, Raven's Perch, Main Street Rag and Brooklyn Review.