Never The Twain Shall Meet

The mouth agape, or the held tongue                      sliding back behind the door,
how many chances for a stranger,                              how many for a relative, or a friend,
hope and disappointment should be a               continuum but the treachery,
like being backed into, all dug out,                                 a hopeless foxhole of rage,                        disappointment feels like despair and                    despair hasn't found a place in me                                yet I live it like disappointment                                  which seems more familiar in how                               its penny drops and how quickly                                       its ripples rouse my anger.