I want so much
to give in to temptation,
and come undone,
to hit and hurl
with fist and tongue,
to have no thought of consequence,
or afterwards.

I would give so much
to lie on the ground
like a child can,
and wave my fists
and drum my feet,
and blubber and cry and moan,
poor me.

I would loose much
though, to open my mouth
and flap it like a red rag
for quick release,
for my own
wants, needs, selfishness,
my traitor tongue.

I must close so much
my dangerous mouth,
and still so much
my coiled anger,
that no drop of fury
will leak, spill, burn, pour,
unretrievable.

If I so much
as breathe too soon,
rage will take me
under, and summoned anger bubble,
so I close the battened hatches,
and very, very quietly;
I moan.