With an Axe

Sometimes I almost break, and break the backs
Of all the idiots who talk to me,
Dispose of everyone so messily
That no one figures out how the attacks
Began, or why. I’ll boil them all in wax
And send them, burning brightly, out to sea.
I’ll drag them from their homes, unskin each knee
Both front and back, and shear them with an axe.

The violence is underneath, unseen
Until the moment comes. Though overset
By terrorizing outbursts, which have met
With silence, icy laughter, grim and keen,
And thoughts about a wild threshing machine,
I haven’t murdered anybody yet.