Zeniths

"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.