The words in their new suits and tie, The tender words in high heels, The Mad men of a perfectly mad sentence, The clever words, the reckless words, The sad words in black leather jackets and gloves, The small print words that stand on the corner, Painted faces like prostitutes, The books on a shelf like rows of old houses, Dark brothels in which words Conduct business, the words with their hands out, Words with their bellies full of sadness, Words that jump off high buildings And words that give off a lovely light, Words breaking their words.© Ernest Slyman
(originally appeared in The Free Cuisenart)