Tag Archives: Anger


Only through our vulnerabilities  

Can we speak of ourselves

Where no genders build language

Where no categories structure

Your reaction to my voice…..

My reaction to your voice.

Either of us can be the words

Slicing into the coolness

Of our combined angers…..

Of our singular gentleness


Hair Yell


It’s ok to use a little hairspray

To keep it out of your eyes

Glue it down, rearrange it

Before you lose your mind

And yell at the mirror

Blaming your cowlick

On that worn pillow

You named Mr. Flattie

Throwing aside Pregnant Betty

The pillow who’s too fluffy,

Yet leaves your hair alone.

Hey, it’s sleep or style

A choice many make during the night.

No wonder you’re naming pillows.

But, as you yell

At the reflection of a bird nest

On top of your morning-before-work head

You imagine that your hair is…

The split-ended image of a yell

Swept back, bird plumage, Trump-like

Angry words pushed forth

Ahead of any functional thought

As if the loud sound

Emanates from the pre-coffee era

Or the post postmodern alcohol crazy-shit era.

Making you wonder

Who has control of your mop top?

A Yodeler gone idiotic?

A Cavewoman in prehistoric menopause?

Your coworkers will wonder

Who you had an argument with.

Was it the whole of America?

We’re you poking your nose

in some other country’s junk drawer

Hoping to find a flat iron?

But, it’s more complex than that

You could style it all out

If it wasn’t for the damn bathroom

Louder than any other room.

Who designed them that way?

Why would anyone wish

To listen to shit at twice the volume?

Your toilet yelling becomes whiplash

A blowback, an implant, a fierce shot of wind

You can’t wear a hat all your life

Hoping it’ll protect you from overreacting.

You tangle with the hairspray

A cold mist surrounds your aura

Placing your roots back

Into the mild mold it knows

It’s time to catch the train


Remember, for later, at coffee break

If your yelling attempts to fly

Violently to one side or the other

Shut up

Schedule a hair appointment


Bite Of The Wind


Have we missed the bite of the wind?

So long has the heat

Steered us into beliefs….of

The shortened life of trees

We can see all branches

Shudder with the bite

Reminding us of our connection

Or what is sometimes called

Our lives…… with cheeks frozen

Hands numb with happiness.

Are we fools to want to understand?

The whisperer who sings

Unmistakable notes in our ears

Holds us back, slows our walk.

It is a coldness, a thinking chill

A brisk wondering, cool passion….


Is it now? When the heat wave

Hurries us along

With faces flushed, panting

To understand an irresistible anger

Caused by our own temperature

Of the death of trees

The souring of rivers

The forgotten pond


The pond sits in our teakettles…….

We mimic the heat…. as

Summer invades the fall

Seasons drive by like bullets

The friction of the kill

Blurs things into scorch

Confusing the trees

Swelling the rivers

The new winter melts glaciers

In our throats,

We guzzle snow as we choke

On our own stream of consciousness

Filling the heated, wounded gut……

Where we are never safe

Until everything has been boiled…. And….

In an attempt to rush the heat

We point guns at loved ones

Attempting to shoot our way

Into the cold or out of anger

For shooting love is the quickest

Way to freeze us out of madness

When all questions and answers

Burn on multiple sources of heat


Are we mistaken to listen?

To The whisperer that works

Its way in between our warm clothing

It tickles, biting softly

imprinting its song on the back of our necks