Black Week

I must parse the sentence of my sadness,

diagram despair.

I must break my anger into parts of speech:

the nouns of nothing I can do or say,

the verbs of ruin, participles

raging through my fevered nights.

I must find a stronger subject for my verbs,

disrupt the syntax of protracted fear.

I must place my anger in subordination,

possess the grammar of my own recovery,

find my predicate, someone gladly

to complete my transitive, hungry verbs.