delight in anger

It is not enough, o dispassionate one.
Equanimity, evenness, measured pace
even at the marathon sprint you run
- with never a hair up your
out of place, it is not.

Enough. Though you crow delight
in wonder and curious interest, and true
- you are never bored, were you?
And here! There has been no doubt
at your so-sincere - you protest,
and in fact any fool can see that
clear.

Why do you pout?

It is not enough. Insufficient use
of emotion placed over the ample
and rational juice of your good
and sufficient cause. Reason alone
above all without any flaws, and feeling
above even that. Over it. And

meaning

all through. Like some infinite
rakishly jaunty-cocked
angle-knocked hat! A cleverly-botched
counterfeit - pretty bad, and
so true, it seems government-done!
For reasons like that alone,

accepted all over

by

everyone.

Pleased? Proud? Delighted, eh? Perhaps?
Your sweet trick? Has lost its way? No sham
- but so surely a con
no one buys. Or takes
so much as a snatch
of that puppy-dog stuff
all toad, snail and wag
tucked between your legs.
Never buys, only begs
to differ, or oftener:
simply for more. Like that. Your sighs
always just their size. Encore!
Certainly not paid for, though
or worn. Like new,
your suits and fresh
pieces, ensembles tried on,
unbespoke, but so fit!
So praised - adorn wardrobes
- curiosity cabinets built
in and for unusual ways. No,
nobody buys, and they pay

even less. And they pay for it.

As you surely could guess. Freely-given
is easy gain to freely-ignore. While you cheer
and you weep, in the stands, turned out
for all those
you love, so much faith you doubt
they could possibly lose, and they DO
- all those peeps who you'd love to keep
so very well. But you can't, loved one.

So you weep. It's a funny and rum
sort of punch in the teeth.
Through catastrophe eyes you can see,
see? See all you like
-it-or-not. Right smack on the field, and
you don't like it much. What you see
all the yield of what
you have not even done. Never once, even
told-you-so'd any, in sum or parts. As a hole
goes deep - just look at the score. They will not
climb their way out of this once more. It's as if

you have not the wit
to know, even so plain, rudimentary tack
as I-told-you-so. Which everyone sticks!
And does not stick out, but yes,
you have not the wit. Or the brevity
- tell you that much! Through your yells
and your whoops slip sigh and groan,
you bemoan "SEE?
See!" WHY do we!

DO that.

Do we kill and we force and we poison
ourselves dumb ways for fun, to show
comfort and home and trust, by the way
we bite and stab? Knowing these little
arch familiarities
are not enemy-stuff, but for loved ones?
Just ask dad! Or. Mom! Sis, bro and wife
ask anyone's cousin who took their own
life that is why this is why we do these
things! To show we know
you
are so strong
you could fly without wings

Or is it a fact we can't help
ourselves - or
for that matter, anyone? Oh I eee,
oh I owe

humanity so. The debt that I stand in
is six feet thick, and no fun
to account for my lack
of interest therein. And I'm one
inch short to see out of it.
Good thing I'm not lying down!
I'd fit! Dasn't anyone SEE,
see?

The some better way to play in and out
through it, and not care who'd win
if the game were fair, or even
if we were game for rules? Have I been
not clear on the whole true dare? There's a way
That
clearly
does work, and could go? Don't they SEE?

See, no. They don't.

Never will. Since you can't. You do not
persuade.
You do not
convince. Not enough. Your play

has no practice in it. The fact
that you do not try does convict
of sincerity. And they judge you just
so, but would you take the word
of so stupid a con, even ex? FOR FREE?
Of course you would. But would they?
Still yes. Entertainment value
you can only guess. Of the thing
you've made
of yourself - you insist,
or at least you DO
only use just about half
of the risk. Of the it. Of
potential's clue. Of that frightful,
distorting, infurious stuff - you are right

to emotionally rue. You must feel

more than that! For sure. You must

bring it all. To delight

in a world so horrible hard

is unreasonable, unless

you see clear to
score deep rents with a force
you deplore, and find it in you

to

delight

in

wrath. In anger, a frolic
In pity
In hate
- a full-bore hard-partying
pageant parade, with one giant and lonely
balloon animal - a giraffe, dragged behind
in a tumbled deflate. With smart barricades
from the public fund. With punch
and with pie you will grow
to hate you can have
and eat, too. And they all will believe! then

coming from you