The "last word" was not. I think you can figure it's meaning.

A NIGHT FOR CICERO


Shadows fall across the lustful plain as they drive into the darkness.
The night is unwieldy, yielding shadows full of pain, bereft of mercy.
Mercy is a shadow of cool darkness which light cannot contaminate.
Wheels roll forward, the road stretches out ahead,
lazy asphalt corridor a lace between cities,
skeletal and now infamous, traced into the prairie dust.

Bound between homes, passengers tire, sigh and sleep, lolling in seats
not invited to a party of wakeful terror,
as are others are who must purge their demons.
There is nothing proper, no saving as violence springs up
lurching, jilting, slashing, shadows taking form towards an innocent target
like Cicero, guilty of nothing, only wanting to be home.
End of season returning, simple journey to loving arms
ends here tonight on this conveyance, among strangers
in a public horror.

Afterwards, unspeakable details stretch out across a country
maimed by this night, transfixed in darkness, thoughts shudder
from city through town to unbelieving, horrified minds.

Strike the demon, down in the darkness, who can tell if it lingers, still
in the taught light of day, remorseless shadow across the face
as the courts, mere ciphers decide to protect the guilty.

The road still twists and swallows all, near this place
voices now lost on a prairie wind if ever they were heard at all
where fate pulled up one night and dealt death
on this guiltless road, in a gutless, gutted country
which can now settle back down into the prairie dust.