They stand behind the lectern, their faces cold as stone
Reading monosyllabic words in a morbid monotone
To audience effetes who believe that they alone
Understand the innuendo in the poets homophone.
Can it be a poem if its voices do not sing
If there are no pretty words, no thoughts inspiring?
Can it be a poem if its cadence doesn’t ring?
Is it a poem sans style? sans substance? sans everything?
Maria, raised in the Mafia and educated by the gangs of New York, is hunting the man who killed her Akalina, and she will kill anyone who gets in her way.
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