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 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
in a crowded room.

You can put someone's
heart out
in the bitter
cold;
where warm hearts
freeze-dry;
shrivel up
and sometimes cynicalize

from Bitter Hate
and then
Word-Murder
somebody else.