Cursed Words

I’ve begun to mourn our voices
falling off our tongues like ripe gourds
wrapped in barbed wire.

Our eyes would start to say,
watch your step,
as we drop to our knees

and pilfer for the fruits,
unhinge our jaws,
and swallow them whole—

prongs and all,
sputtering, tumbling like spurs
down our throats.

First published in decomP magazinEAugust 2017

© 2016 Created by Chris Antzoulis