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You Felons on Trial in Courts

¹You felons on trial in courts;
You convicts in prison-cells—you sentenced assassins,
chain’d and hand-cuff’d with iron;
Who am I, too, that I am not on trial, or in prison?
Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are
not chain’d with iron, or my ankles with iron?

 

²You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs, or ob-
scene in your rooms,
Who am I, that I should call you more obscene than
myself?
³O culpable! O traitor!
I acknowledge—I exposé!
(O admirers! praise not me! compliment not me! you
make me wince,
I see what you do not—I know what you do not;)
Inside these breast-bones I lie smutch’d and choked;
Beneath this face that appears so impassive, hell’s
tides continually run;
Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me;
I walk with delinquents with passionate love;
I feel I am of them—I belong to those convicts and
prostitutes myself,
And henceforth I will not deny them—for how can I
deny myself?
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