d(ANGER)

I. we are a people raised
on the taste of shifting
truths, that is to say,
lies
and too stubborn to admit that
kings are
not born but created
blow by blow
we return,
itching the same
ache
hanging on for
shame's sake because
nothing remains save
the sum of our discontent

II. two elections running
the hoi-polloi are divided
down the middle on the big one
one state - panic - decides
a party for color
a party for gender
and let's just leave
the hippies to grow their soul
patches a little longer and
imagine sighting a
bohemian Jesus in the mirror
sprinting behind the juggernaut

III. madness is
such a supple thing
but even so
there is a limit to
what we can take
do you remember when we passed it?

and if we're not going to
plunge madly through
the smokescreen or
force that newspaper to fold
against the lines it
may be prudent to admit this
experiment of violent truces
has failed miserably
and permanently
and perhaps
now would be a good time
to file this baby under
democracy,
en of

IV. how many times can you
reset a break and
how many ways?

mouthing the sacred shibboleths
each election, i know some answers
extend the rhetoric of truth
while others just
extend
but we must claim the ideal
as our own
and say it until
it gets said right for in
broken times
mere silence is a lie

and i may choose to hold
my tongue
feeling the small pellet of
anger
placed just so
underneath

i may take an oath of
silence, hold my patience
and finally
call for mercykill

or i may
touch the fading scar
beneath my tongue and know
it still holds
words