my wrath

by linda m. crate

my wrath
I'll tear this city open
until it bleeds scarlet sunsets,
squallid scents masked by the musk
of black blood; dance over me
measures of kindness unless you
want the sticky symphony of blood
dripping down my arms like moss
upon rocks, flowers sprout their lies
their fires siphoning out paltry truths -
one day you'll drown in the flames
of my rage winging like sparrows
through white wine clouds.