Sow Through the Anger and the Kids

There are no more roads to hang on to
She fetched the last one
there was a time when the distance was healing
but the grains of distance have left
like the anger and the kids and the Sunday softball
couriers you cannot remember or recall
voices you once commemorated, now deflated
now circumcised to shed the spokesman
over your body, that carnivorous self
the temptation of angels lies on your tongue
and the lounge singer has protective glass over the piano
you will not be the smoke-wisps of dignity tonight

Kindness has always been just a pipe dream
overt cruelty has always been present
The ambition of kindness
is a digression from your true self

the rage and the performance
just eloquent bathing oils
to your troubled history with pickpocket tyrants
and domesticated anger at the sight of loved ones
you have never been a king
you do not understand the great shapes it takes on you
if you could only forfeit your feelings, your fake ambition
and your delicate mockery for post-script pearls
you would find a donkey in the rush
plastic screens and make believe
too tattered to be grateful, a legend you claim
with spots for alimony and fur-rippled pearls for grateful timing
the godfather of Picea
and your placard clocks