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Street Murder

By jamesaguiar - Posted on 22 January 2010

 Is it menstrual blood-
A slipped tampon-
Aberrant kotex that makes her white shoes
She so neat, tidy, pretty-
Why so pale?
Suddenly frail?
Turning slowly
She twists as a vortex
Into the flood of blood-
The exsanguination of personhood, self.
She, knowing she is dead,
Cries, " Oh, God...."
She stares numbly at the hole
A voice cries her name
A lover's voice as she falls.
A last look sucking in all that's left.
A last moment's grace
Two lovers in this place--
Time will erase
her being
her meaning.
An arbitrary bullet has done its work
We ask: "Why?"
What is truthless
Ruthless -
This lamb sacrifice
That abominates our eyes?
We forlorn,
This forever paradigm
That stole her time.

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