Ten, 6-13

Twenty-six, 6-13, softly beating hearts
within four walls today were placed
on the gunmetal.

Three plus one on the way were told to leave.
And then sixteen, 6-13 were told to leave. And
what they could hear were
ten, 6-13. The girls were left in a row below
a chalkboard, above which the sign read
"visitors brighten people's days."

Ten, 6-13 were too soon left lying
on the floor with their lives flowing in pools,
half dead, half half-dead.
One, 32, with a million particles of madness
coursing through him, lay down beside them,
already forgiven.