My word is a weapon,
What it may rend is up to you.
I aim it, I point it,
Towards your enemy;
Our enemy.
My word is carcinogenic,
My word is radiation.
My word is the warmth of embrace
And the bite of rejection.
My word is all I know.
I will share it,
Spread it, give it wings
That it may fly.
It will descend upon the living
As it does in the afterlife.
My word is the chain
Tied to limbs and blocks;
The unrest of grievance
In the garden
At a rest stop.
My word is rhythm,
Flow, and dedication.
My word must be your enemy,
If you reject what
It might kill.
My word is verse,
The malnourished and decayed.
My word is heaven,
Unprovoked,
Whole yet unmade.
It is fallen candy on the pavement,
A single fish to feed five,
The hopeless wishing of faith
In soil that will
Never yield.
My word is the end
Of me and you.
My word is the creation of us
Betwixt them,
And they themselves.
My word is the iteration
That sight in time might change.
That it would become unlike itself,
That us and we,
Would not have to see
Beautiful people;
Lost children at the bottom of lakes,
And the homeless,
Burning
In the sun.