This poem is my response to the shooting in Oregon, the shooting in Connecticut, and the stabbings in China.
nameless things dismantle
Those whispered words slipping from
brittle tongues in susurrus murmurs mean little to me now.
Pain slices open my lips, frigid and unforgiving as searing and merciless.
Fingers flutter for tender flesh,
and I, unknowing, surrender.
It's anger slipshod and terror all askew, and bits
and shards of jealous and happy spatter the bitter-spangled floor stained wistful.
Thunder rumbling behind my eyes, waterfall roaring behind my ears,
cavernous cacophony all in between the crevices—
I am smothered by the flitting, fleeting thoughts,
impressed by the crowded solitude inside here,
and I want to taste the silence,
but it only tastes like blood—
acrid, metallic, wrong.
I see ghosts of me move in behind their faces before nameless things dismantle,
before they bleed
and they come to gravity's cradle,
the words ripped out of their throats
understanding rendered stolen in lost breath.