Anger

Bury slice rip stretch skin mangle maul shred grind fire the field of sight see the coarse flavors of rage level the kingdom down to kinder soils warmer voices and slower fangs

Flash of chrome on the sidewalk: deep breath, ignite the shortbreath world. A city can be our glove: locked fingers that repeat stories in a blown car horn for dying whales, the amber shard of the night we'll never hold. Splash of fumes like prehistoric paint, we are graffiti before dry wall. Someone screams at nothingness; I respond with a mug filled with air, this confrontational silence that keeps us awake.