The Judge

I figure, as long as I'm unemployed, I should 'publish' some of my original work here. I've always been afraid to display my work in public... but here I go. This is my first real attempt at "stream of consciousness" poem:

The Judge

He slams down his gavel and the people cheer

they don’t see what he keeps below his chair

lurking in the dank underbelly of seat springs and foam

lies the most hideous form of lower being

its fangs are sharp, its hiss low and booming

its face drips with the fates of those he condemns

its tongue wet with their blood and its eyes gleeful at their fear

never does it appear to the people

and rarely does it appear to him

but, there it lurks

waiting