Anger Day # 3 by Douglas Thompson

I think of a girl who stretched out over the sultry of just sometimes
removed from here I could add a little something
fresh flowers made empty wine bottles and the smell of lost dry vapour
to drink their dance floor and locked we would
inhale deep breaths of each other and jostle
whilst we float through sometimes dreaming reality
like a tower.

Did I open my eyes such voluminous faith
I used to see unmoulded into potter's hands and Ave Marias?
And then it came to pass my views turned the playing field
till its morning that pilgrims might overcast
a three-dimensional metro bridge in the rain
still beneath the copper-coloured steps leading
to the church of gutters

Suffering to add another felt before
a child-like shame resting on my shoulders
I hitched up my wanted poison something beautiful
part of a ceremony I waited for a warmth from my lips
clearly and now I know before she finds the absolute cruelty
I proceed with this past as she finds her priest
as the thought of energy that clarity
I ran looking for the quiet voice a sharp knife
the pain consuming throb
makeshift wonder giving the line
between the power a new life not to be used again
within their becoming clearer.