THE WORD

I am the word that will punctuate you at the end,

as closure brings communications in.

I wait only for the syllables to crush your tongue to teeth.

And each time that the word, I, wet around your lips,

readied to fall out of mouth, know

I am the ending sentences that become what cannot be unsaid.

Where pride is carried on the back of the black crow

who soars above the crowd,

he calls out to fear create below.

Cowards, we, all men are at times,

so feeling of impending humiliation–started wars.

But death is nothing when seen facing shame.

Men have stayed held in cars on rail lines,

been splayed of blood on tracks of trains for shame.

The red faced fright

did not move out the vehicle stalled, only tried to rev that engine clean,

hid in hopes those men did–now dead.

I see the remembrance of rejection on the backs of arms that once wore heart wove sleeves

that take down bricks and slay and do all the many of manliest endeavours

and still—silence swims on.

And regret has been my brother on some days,

yes, it has been some days oft,

where you folk have plucked me off for unuse.

I, the word, you say you do not want me.

A beggar man, the word becomes,

begging for some crumb-

one blasted damn letter,

an abbreviation; alliteration.

One word was one too many for you all?

One word was too much for them to say.

And I have understood, from my cave of butchery, where I eat raw fish I find in bins–

that I, the word, without speakers, am poor.

I have understood that fear unspoken, have found where it lives.

Have watched men, them, claw at throats to find.

Them all looking for reverberation of skin,

for the throat canal to be opened

to quake up such a ragged storm of speech!

And still–I hear nix.

Fields of people who have voices do not speak.

I only watch your eyes.

I only watch your eyes

to read how loud the sound of silent words can be.

To see the final silent space

where felled the silent full stop falls.

And endless silent space pushes on.