In Decision Poem by Cailey Martin

Manifestations of (f) hate have
run amok/c-king absolution for crimes
they only said they had (c) o(m) mitted;
now they are waiting to be noti(ced) fied by
some(any) one. F(h) ate is a vicious

raptor, pr(e) (a) ying by day and night.
The constancy of ele(ph) gants is
the only p(i) eace in a world full of
(dis) appointments, where mimes l(sh) ove
their boxes and badly fractured sentenc

are cut off(s) for Luck, Y-brand jeans
worn by time and sl(cr) ammed
into pockets of p(r) ep and fals(c) ities
prom(is) (ulgat) ed and broken by (un) dying
truth, of which they know not(every) thing.

O(ad) mission is the only true mastery
that they've (re) (at) tained, (un) sure,
cr(sl) eeping softly through storms
during which they should really
have bolted (out) the door.

Even (t) rapt(do) ors bear witness
to (in) justice, just as (f) hate is privy
to those quarantined by their own
(un) consci(ence) ousness. Either way,
the mimes are more free than they.