Rage can be a powerful tool – but its so easy, with it,
to allow ourselves to become overtaken and become the tools ourselves
May we ride the fire that drives –
May we die the dying that dyes
Rage en rose
that stains all clothes
That bleeds thru all our precious veneer
&Mama yells,
“You dont trust my love!”
– rolling up the stair again
– get thee hence, into thine iron bonnet again
– you cant even hear the sugar in a hateful strain
My knife knocks on the door.
It’s been there for years and
itself has been slain