Ode To A QC

I remember thinking
Over our molotov coffee
He begrudgingly,
Grumpily bought,
Coins on a cold café floor,
Coughing as usual,
How his rhubarb-leaf ears
Were so inexplicably big
They would surely catch
The hidden meanings,
Sounds and smoky nouns
Of our resounding planets,
The morning before
He won the case,
The morning before
Another dawn became itself,
Manifold in her own justice.


Where are you now, Gao Rongrong,
And those who felt appalled;
When did they alter long war songs,
Their sympathies dissolved?
I want the men who tortured you
To tell me what was wrong;
And would they use the same on me
To praise their giblet-gods.
I see a heaven where you study,
Surrounded by loved ones;
Back down here there’s 7G,
They’re burning telephones.
There is an army, terracotta,
Of millions just like you;
We march with our stigmata
Into one more meeting room.