THE STONE RAGE

THE STONE RAGE  PM9674

I read One Hundred Years of Solitude 

for the first time when I was in high school.

I reacted at first to the dirt-eating with mild 

shock and distaste,

until I remembered that I had done the

same thing, in the garden, in Pinawa,

it started by picking carrots and eating them

without washing them first.

It was repugnant yet the dirt had a cleansing

effect, I wasn't aware of it at the time but

my body new it. I wouldn't eat the worms, that

would be disgusting but I would pick them out

and then toss them aside, not knowing it would have

been like a dirt sausage, a treat perhaps to the

untrained, destroyed palate of a child.

Pebbles and stones were great because they came

with so much pain,

so much sweet pain,

another feeling to think about over-riding the

foulness I so desperately needed to rid myself of,

later on came the sharp knives, slicing through the 

gums and helping to eradicate the disease,

festering twenty odd years it had become even more

cruel and brutal, more than you can imagine.

I spit into the sink, mix some water making the 

coriolis effect spin the water into the drain and

out into the sewers where it belonged.

But I never got it all out and what remained

festered and festered until the pain became too

unbearable even for me and so much rinsing

with anything but mouthwash could not remove

the film that remained and still remains

fixated to the insides of my cheeks, upper

and lower and the cancer which is my tongue.

A long slit in my tongue speaks of an old hockey injury

before mouthguards were mandatory,

an errant stick to be sure, helped later on by

razor blades and steak knives, a secret pocket

which will never feel entirely clean. I prayed the monster would be killed,

it would fall down and be run over by a bus and I would get my

salvation, a dance on the grave, jig in the moonlight

but age tempered all and while I couldn't shed

a tear, neither could I celebrate what I had been

desperately waiting for all my life.

I am not strong and now I have to fear everything,

she has come back to haunt me in the form of a witch

hiding in the backyard and flying away on a broom

when the sun comes up. My only protection is

a pane of glass and I breach it often, just to

try and get that taste out of my fucking mouth

along with those memories in my brain

that I cannot seem to erase,

I must be hitting the wrong button.

Three long months off the valium and

the rage has begun to return, I ignored it

at first, but it has once again taken over

I feel it inside me all the time but

I don't feel it escaping until it has made good

on the disappearance.

It wells up inside me so strongly now,

as I sit in the dark watching for the

sun to come close and the dawn to break,

when the witch flies away.

The valium gave it substance and weight

and kept it down where it belonged,

it no longer anchors in my soul, it flies

put at all hours, whether I want it to or

not,my anchor has been broken and it

lies heavy in the pit of my stomach.

I feel wretched or like retching, I can't be

sure and I can't feel safe, even about

talking, what comes from my vocal chords

is out of my control and I suffer at the 

hands of maniacs that have taken root

in my brain.

How many calls to 911 do you get in a lifetime

and how many are answered by the proper authorities.

I don't question the fact that there is a knock at the

door but I have to query as to who is on the other side.

What sane person flings the doors open wide

and allows the wind to blow in all the

evil culminated in the breeze.

Evil can easily slide through the holes

in a screen door,

there is no injury done to evil,

screens were invented to keep the flies

out, maybe even the errant bird,

but a squirrel or raccoon could chew through

it easily enough.

Close all the doors and seal them tight

with masking tape, even the smallest crack

could mean the difference between life and

death, the microbes, mitochondria, amoebas

and legless snakes turn you to foolishness

when the only one you are fooling is yourself.

Once I am sealed off the rage can escape and

have nowhere to go, stealthily it will try and

squeeze out the sides of the window but if you prepare

properly it will be unsuccessful, corner it and

the battle will begin, slowly at first,

but if you can corner it in the basement with

a baseball bat you can administer the 'coup de grace'

and finish it off with a smile

and a large bonfire. Feed the flames, feed

the flames until they rise so high they engulf

the ceiling and only then

will you have conquered fear.