Erinyes

“Thank you,” he said.

—a self-cursed lie,
inflicted pity.

The gratitude was not in it.

dISoRDeReD 

INTENSE

I sip my coffee 

white-wristed blood-knuckled 

vengeful and wild, 

a blackened coal 

roasting to dust.

In him is rage

so small

and without destruction—

innocent exalted frenzy

collapsing into restful sleep.

But I am wanderlust

dis     placed.

passionate. fierce.

and tied haphazardly to the backyard fence.

brash and brackish

hidden

behind and between the small cracks

of a smile, “You’re welcome.”