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Words hide, words
move through walls and fly out
into distant minds. Words
hide the truth, or burn
through pages and paint walls
with fire-shadows.
They grant and they steal,
or stay up all night
wondering what shape to form.
They raze cities and
raise the dead—They come apart
like pollen spores, or follow us
into our dreams. Words define themselves
with other words, and mean nothing
without them. They limit the brain,
but ask deep questions.
They bring us through grief and betrayals
with cold comfort.
From a pile of rubble
they build other worlds. They name us
and gather in and at
our wake. They exonerate
or execute. Words come home to us
so we can put them in
the right order, but after this
they don’t think of us. We need them
and we need them to leave
so we can sit at last in peace
and age with the silence.
Horror Sleaze Trash 