Cool Syringe Explosion

His compass has no needle.

She kindly gave barbed wire.

Taboo the ruses, muses, and roses, shh.

Who skulks on the pink linen of the dawnway?

No, murderer: I am worth your killing.

Silence is not the only subversion.

I push the cool syringe into his eye and wait for the explosion.

Women walk by abstractedly with glass in their pockets.

What cannot be said will get wept.

Speak, quiver, before your women grow destitute.