No octopuses were harmed during the making of this poem

by Christos Polydorou

Rage is a fire than begins within
the enclosures of anger

like a lit fuse
burning from inside to outside,

when what is inside chooses
wrongly to express itself

with what is outside,
like setting fire to a house

when you should be reaching inward
and grabbing rage by the tentacles

and slamming rage on the concrete
till all the ink is splattered,

like an octopus,
bring the rage out to the open,

and kill it,
and cook it in some red wine

with cloves and sauteed onions,
just like my mother cooked

the octopuses
my father caught.

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