Our first delight,
Doubtless,
Is mother’s flowing teat.
Then building blocks,
Candy bars,
Parental praise.
Later (for some),
Bullying a nerd,
Followed by
That first copped feel
At the darkened movie house.
But, as the muddied chemicals
Trapped beneath the skull
Surge and ebb
Within those gray slimed coils,
A dark hole—
With brittle walls—
Forms
To imprison rage—
That strange venom—
The distillate
Of failure, pain, frustration,
And despair.
From time to time,
Packed too dense,
Those thin walls burst—
Smashed bones,
Splashed blood
Ensue.
And, stupidly,
We wonder:
Why? Why?
(7/28/12)