ANAGRAMS (81)

Fists of death
Your eyes cloud
Kisses of words and swords
Desiccated lips of the crowd
Wrapped in their banner
Blood-stained shroud
Blindness gawks
Peace is too loud

Out there in the street, behind my window, a headless child sets fire on pages of an illustrated fairy tale. He howls; I panic. And when I want to scream I realize flames have washed away my mouth.