🔵 By Sergio Correa. Photo by lauragrafie.
Fragments of a man as I stand before this court falsely accused, strengthened by the abuse, whispers from those who came before me by way of the Amistad urging me to continue the fight, the Amistad landed in New London isn’t that rite, detectives getting rid of evidence other times failing to log it in, forcing the love of my life to lie on recording, a social worker sitting with me for two months then switching to the other side in any court system in America just isn’t rite, senators showing up at m trial just for show, get your political knee off my neck I am not a murderer and successfully completed parole, so please Heather Somers just let it go, judges showing up at my video court two in a row, with hatred in their blood, no wonder judge Hadden got pulled off for Hunchu Kwak they were shaping it all up, verisimilitude a word prosecutor Steve Carney used, meaning the appearance of truth, we all sat in that court verisimilitude could never be truth, telling more stories than Dr. Seuss, prosecutorial misconduct on the loose, as I sit in my concrete cocoon knowing it may take some time to prove, a light at the end of the tunnel in the form of a white lotus held together by a single rubber band floating in a sea of corruption, still blooms.