My anger.
It is immensely small, tightly loose in the pit of me.
A billowing, whipping ribbon of red amongst the constant black.
I want to unleash it into the tornado wind and watch it whirl into a frenzy.
Bang the dustbin lids of it together in the peace of morning silence.
Matador its bull horns around the arena, to the shrieking of the crowd, for all to see,
Smear it in people's faces in the quiet square of a Parisian banlieue, causing a spectacle.
I want it mounted on the wall of a large country manor, its devil horns a reminder to those who poach.
I want its nose pressed to platitudes, good wishes and well meaning, snorting contempt.
The roar of it, as it locomotives its way through the country dale, breaking the peace.
My ribbon of red amongst the constant black,
Holler and pierce the quiet of your lives, so you know. So you know!
But you'll never know, what it is to surrender the vein to the needle, to the Cancer Master.
