he did not quite know rage

the dam-burst drown of it
the foul incinerating breath
though he had seen it on TV
and could, on cue,
impersonate the wild-eye

he had never known the iron-shower
spears raining to the battle cry
the keen of women heating the air

the fury blown of it
the rampage immolation
of our very selves and so our enemies
but it was good for picking up chicks
who liked that sort of thing