by John T. Solomon
Naked mouths cling to words like
Cold shivering newborn mice.
What did you say?
I'm sorry, I didn't understand.
Words do come.
Words like abused children,
They tumble, fall, or shoot forth
As if blasted by a high powered cannon.
Looking at words from outside you window
I see slick, fast talkers.
Greasy hair, hawk nose, tight lipped sandpaper speakers.
Fire, reload, aim, and fire again.
Words like ammunition.
I often wonder what it's like not to care,
Not to worry,
Not to sweat down the middle of my back,
For my hands not to shake.
Then I stop.
And I feel a little wiser,
And a little more secure,
like a secret,
In my own brand of knowledge
added October 15, 1999