I don’t mean words typed on a old typewriter
Those are okay. Those are fine words
They never hurt anybody
I can hide them in filing cabinets or old atlases.
I mean the words I fling
Like tightrope string across trenches
I mean little webs of steel wool
Flushing my ears and cheeks with blood
Cement blocks in my stairwell.
Words that limit truth to what we say.