In Phoenix, of all places, I let this rage ignite me.
I want to describe this anger
Instead of walking with it into the shower
where the steam will defuse the folds and bear to me reasoning beyond
my first child, my marriage, my obnoxious house guest that
left a residue of cigarette smoke and Issey Miyake.
I want to believe that in place of wanting to hurt myself
I can negotiate with the regulator.
Instead of sinking like a stone into a pond where I know I belong
let me be misplaced in a pool.
Obviously misplaced and easily found
Let this be temporary,
the turning of the dial and not the click.
The click is it.
This is not the click.