stamped flat stamped (Ashley Capes)

Verity La Heightened Talk

 
in my office between classes
I rage at flat things: the sea,
the land, the hard, flat dollar coin
and all its friends,
the road too short by far
and my feet, fingernails and thumbs
sleeping, none of them wings,
I rage at the flat things
until my voice is stamped flat
stamped like the stamp of a soldier’s liberating
boot; I rage until all my dreams are flat
I rage so quietly that animals come close
I rage so well that people congratulate me
I rage so far that distant mummies wake in
their class cabinets, I rage at the rainbow slinky
for no other reason, than that it is on my desk,
I rage so that you notice and go away
I rage at flat things like the paper kipple
growing over me, I rage at words I cannot fix
I rage so deep that Hades lets Persephone go back
for more flowers and I rage so much that
it flattens my soul, now like a leaf
as it turns in the breeze,
and no-one left to chase it.