POEM: Jury Selection

about the pattern of the blood spray
about the blade & the DNA
about his clothes now tactically draped
upon a manikin in sad resurrection

how long do i need to talk about it
i can dress the blank face as a mother would
with his crooked smile
i can dress the blank head as a father might
with a thicket of close cropped hair
he wore so wild

it does not go away [to answer your look]
it is a lump of lead carried around in a pocket
not giving it a thought
until i bump into a table &
feel it & remember what it is I am carrying

how long do i need to talk about it
before words now lame & tangled creatures
lose their heart
lose their inclination to explain things
like why the many russets of october
like the faith of tulip bulbs
like why i am inclined to jettison
every word in my feeble vocabulary