Someday A Lullaby

in my throat
urgent profanity

my hands soaked with
imminent murder

in my chest
a blown up hammer

my feet itching to 
run toward sea to cool me

to keep me from
ruining myself but

how can I live
with such feelings left unused

they are so
necessary to my blood

they set my blood singing
like nothing else

in this world that so often
elicits anger

anger is truth
to be lived

and when a sage
says otherwise

says anger is unnatural
understand

that sage is
a fool

who likely enjoys
a peace attained

by rolling over
and playing death

like some untuned harp
loosely twanging

anger being a key which
when turned adds tension

to such strings
as are needed to lend

a volume to songs
hymns to a longing

to shift ground underfoot
of those seeking

to turn this all to shit — 
and so curses rise in me

and fingers curl
toward palms

and feet prepare
to lash out

because some songs
must be sung

in battle
if you want to stay alive

long enough to sing instead
someday a lullaby