When Anger Cools Into Metal

Illustration by Sebastian Higgins

When anger cools into metal 

Yours is gold, and you wear it like earrings. 

Soft tendrils which dangle from you 

And reach out like a toddler 

To touch something which is hot, and 

Will burn 

Mother of pearl, a junction, 

You are trying to hit me, but I’m dissipating, 

Going any kilometer for your waist 

As the snow is quietly settling, 

It muffles the blow 

In the tomb of it now, 

As cryptic as you like.

I hate these shoes, and, 

I despise you, and, 

The fever pitch is here - so

We simply must sing Auld Lang Syne!

When we hold hands, yours are cold. 

Creaking joints of bleak midwinter,

All of your lush is brittle now. 

There are snowflakes on your lamb-pink tongue 

No, no!

Not right baby, close your mouth, 

It's ash, falling. 

What a vision you are 

Smothered in gold

Your blue lips spitting burnt sandy earth.

Ivory in my nightmares, Photokeratitis 

I’ll see you at home, baby, 

Let’s get warm again.