Wordless Whisperer

by John Shirley

                                                                       art by Drew Roulette

  

The rock star feels unreleased—

taut in his neon cage;

the one who whispers without words

suggests another stage:

the thrill of hanging, the thrill of dangling

at the very edge of death—

so very close, so very near;

near to your final breath.

He’s sucked into the inky pool,

before the noose is loosed;

then his life just drains away—

O another strangled fool!

The comedian decides

he shouldn’t take another shot

—another speedball raging,

the lightning fairly caught—

the whisper without words

insists on one more hit;

just one more,  not so much—

man, you’ll be so lit!

And when his lungs

fill up with blood—

he sees the omega sign:

As the end comes with a thud…

he hears the last punchline.

And the gambler, he throws the dice—

a half-million on one toss;

He knows now that he should quit:

losing big’s too big a cost.

But then the whisper comes,

a hiss right from the air—

and suddenly he takes the leap,

and bets it all right there.

He loses all, yes everything,

and drifts up to his room—

should he use the gun inside his bag

or sweep with a new broom?

The wordless whisper hisses,

suggests without a sound—

hisses softly in his ear:

True hope cannot be found.

And people in the parking lot

counting money they’ll lay down,

scarcely notice that final shot—

that quick and lonesome sound.

The whisperer needs no words

to hiss your life apart;

he can’t be seen, he’s never heard,

but he’s with you from the start;

heed him if you must, my friend—

you’ll hear him in your heart:

laughing, clearly laughing…

joyful in his art.

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     by Sheikha A