The Anatomy of Anger

Audio visual cortex

Borderline smile,
the hazel face of a child;

all guile and guilt
adulthood spilled in her lap with
a wink and a laugh.

And should this
rash that starts as a series of

(upon my chest until
every manufactured breath finds
its ambitions aligned with despots)

then my body’s
just a prop to
be bandaged when shot,
glued together
when dropped,
a constantly
rehabilitated plot of earth where
I’ll abscond as
ashes scatter.

molecular bonds
can never
be severed,
just as
some catalysts are not meant
to be mentored to become more
than a chain

Neck from navel,
a radial fist,
breast to footstep,
each temperamental

a trick on my senses I cannot quite kick.

Blisters to boils,
building character
and foils. Until
this toil succumbs to its age, I’m just

a symbol of
its sacrilege.



The Ancestry of Anger
The Exodus of Anger
The Epitaph of Anger


12 thoughts on “The Anatomy of Anger

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