Words hid in a corner
dark with remembrance.
Words dumb from scarred silence
from long neglect
ask me to speak – tongueless.
Beautiful things sit beautifully
in a bar called Bravado,
full of insecure blandness.
She sits cross-legged on a barstool,
feet several inches of special –
off the floor.
Floors are resigned expressions.
We all fall in them screaming,
How quiet will you be
when the dark nipple of oxygen
with areola of breath is withdrawn?
I am silent like a hungry baby
tucked alive in fist of brown earth:
Is a muffled shriek