A Killer Word
Strewn on the ground
were the nouns;
the gerunds
and the active verbs,
along with the Criminal Looks
and Sly Slights.
There was a Wad of Silence
masquerading as 'Quiet Time.'
The Absences were white chalk outlines
and fittingly so-
there was nothing of substance left.
The yellow plastic cord-rope
denoted the murder scene-
'move on' the cop said
'nothing left to here to see.'
You could glimpse the outline
of a person there
face-down in the street;
cut down from childhood
with Withering Stares
and Stab-Words;
Rejecting Gerunds
Shredded Feeling Tones,
Mocking Participles-
Little Murders all of them-
Psychic Evils
marauding Word Killers-
inflicting wounds that bleed-
inside the mind;
blood red emotions
running thick in the street.
Someone calls 911
but they come much too late.
What's really needed is 411
for those who need to know
Psychic Wounds
burrow deep
and eat out
from the inside.
A word is a dangerous thing
to swing
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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