FULL STOP

There was something dangerous in his pale, ironic smile. She did not see it. All the ellipses and misplaced apostrophes, the cacophony beneath each poem. She did not hear it. Now, it's too late, or too soon, all in-betweens forever gone. Poetry turned to prose, then to silence. But who cares? Seriously, who cares? She doesn't. Not anymore. The dead have no qualms. Full stop.