It's funny because I serve vengeance
warm; the warmth of my cheeks
when laughed at: embarrassed, ashamed.
The kind of warmth we see as breaths outside
between December 22nd and March 20th.
And I'm counting our days... oh, yes:
They are numbered and—thank God—unendless.
I've been drinking the wine you've served
that's boiling inside my belly,
and I'll strip you naked—an exposure
like death-by-nature: frozen.
I'll strike you with this hand of iron
in my drunken stupor: under the influence
of rage and hate (the real kind we don't see
on the 5 o'clock news). And when midnight
strikes, signaling the last day...
Oh, yes... Spring will bloom a whole new
disaster. The kind that melts down
mountains of laughter as a mudflow,
the thick slop you'll drown in.
An eye for an eye.
You've heard this, I know... but now you've finally
seen it.