by the time I spotted the attack I was wounded.
sneering sniper. you hurl lightning verbs, bright, sharp
like lemon sherbet shards slicing my tongue
that is tied around them, caught by the cat, writhing,
gleaming carp. then come the pronouns
the thunder-boulders that you cast as though weightless,
the sticks and stones that are breaking my bones
as you pray on your knees for your words to ruin me. I had no idea
how eloquent you could be, when your inspiration,
your muse, is to maim me – it’s poetry. the very worst kind.
poison panacea, you spit in my face. taste the black gall of your
saliva feel it cling to my skin close up my mouth
fill your lungs with brimstone kiss chlorine against my cheek
there’s an apocalypse pulsing on the tip of your tongue,
and I’m the havoc you wreak when you speak.
For those that know the power of words, and refuse to wield it wisely