Zeniths by Jon Hoel

        “What do you do
with the mad you feel?”
Mister Rogers asked

I split cinders in fists
Grimace at my mental pulchritude
I wear the arms of my father, thin skin, heavy veins

I chew my inner lips
Until they’re marred and gored
Their metronomic quivers conspire against me

Watching the JFK Airport protest
I’m crying because suddenly I’m not angry
anymore, just human and stupid

“What is the moratorium
on the envy of others?”
I wonder to myself.

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