Dictionary
By Shelby Fairbairn
A word is a four letter definition in the dictionary
They’re the smallest atom and the largest idol
Words are a social construct molded by culture
They’re the slyest lie and the sweetest nothing
Words are a serial code on harrowed skin
They’re the sharpest insult and the softest lullaby
Love is a pincushion metaphor pinned obscure
It’s pliable purity and melee straw firm
Love is a dishwasher Tetris marathon
It’s double-decker Jenga and a hosed-down perm
Love is a twenty-ticket prize from a twenty-dollar date
It’s hand-drawn lines and hand-drawn hate
Fear is a four letter word defined in the dictionary
It’s a one-forty-key ghost in a fifteen-inch screen
Fear is a six-AM alarm clock at a once-a-month truck stop
It’s a mirror flipped with a frozen tongue
Fear is a slatted screen porch on a twelfth floor flat
It’s a U2 song away from a twelve story drop
You are a biological anomaly, marked since birth
Condemned to irreparable dissonance
Jigsaw puzzle cut by drunk, divorced hands
A word for every atom, appendage, apparel
Every idiosyncrasy, idea, illness
Every one doomed after every lip-dive
Faulty parachutes unchangeably assembled
I am a biological error, imperfect since god
Sentenced to epoxied, tangled threads
Needle eye forged by hands too small
A word for every atom, appendage, apparel
Every idiosyncrasy, idea, illness
Every one doomed after every lip-dive
Faulty parachutes unchangeably assembled
Anomaly validated by error
Dissonance silenced by silk
Jagged edges sutured by unstrung eyes
The closest miss to hope for
The coin stopped on its spine
