the Word

once there lived a man
who was given but one Word his whole life
to speak, to cherish and to spend
he knew this the day he was born
as he hung upside-down
in spite of a butt-smacking midwife
in spite of his terrified mother
silent as a tomb
just like he'd been
curled up in her womb.

he kept the Word close to his heart
under headlines "To Save For Dying Breath"
nobody knew what he was going to say
nobody soon bothered to ask
and then nobody really cared anyway
when he finally left home
to seek his dying day.

but the pandemonium of world would not let him go
and he was tortured for his silence in Dubai
tongued by an amorous woman in Oslo
probed with shiny metal devices in Tel Aviv
fell madly in bed with an exquisite Siamese slip
and made love to her like a gagged banshee
yet nary a syllable breached
his slender virgin lips.

on and on by desperation spurred
he bore his death-locked secret
trudged across the ungrateful earth
for the birthplace of his hallowed Word
till at long last he found the nameless Ground
cradled in the middle of the howling dunes
his tongue limp and cracked
his throat torn with thirst
barely able but ready to cry his joy --
he thought he heard laughter in the winds
a tittering mocking mirth
     . . .
and then his legs finally 
buckled
he fell face first
upon the naked desert floor
with sand through his gritted teeth
the Word
                slipped
like a betrayed orgasm
       

and he said no more.

v : ) n c e