Coming out of Anger

That's Mike in the corner, that's Mike in the spotlight, muttering strange proclamations, again . . .


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Coming Out of Anger

What’s the use of slitting so many metaphorical throats,
Or counting till I descend to bad dreams the faces of injustice?
The mirror shows new scars, says wise up already, live.
There are fresh ironies to weep and laugh at, and much to kiss.
There are autumn leaves to crunch underfoot with a friend.
Should I give up all that to stew in anger over mere ideas
About the way the world should be, should look,
Should feel in the heart that has suffered as all hearts have?
I might as well get angry that the stars aren’t candy canes,
Or that my guardian angel won’t join me for coffee, and talk.
It must be enough that springtime still makes me horny.
It must be enough that I still yearn to come home, and crunch
Autumn leaves with you, my friends, and laugh as only we can,
And speak freely of our sorrows and joys, and heal again.