Another One of My Self-Important Poems

Words.

Another word.

I’m sure you’re all so sick of words.

Fair Narcissus lays dying.

Send a kind word to his mother.

The pope has fallen ill.

Say a word of blessing in your prayers.

When the bomb drops,

I will throw words at it.

I will strike it with my magic wand.

I will look for answers in a deck of cards.

I will curse your name.

Failing a miracle,

I will pour words on the ashes,

and I will say,

“I would have rather said ‘accept,'”

“I would have rather said ‘forgive,'”

“I would have rather said, truly, ‘love.'”

I would have rather said something of beauty.