I think of angst as a soft metal.
You try to worry it into something
decorative and useful--
ring, cup--and it resists by being
too malleable. Its color mixes
gray and brown.
Some company delivers a load
of angst to you. You swear
you didn't order it. It gets
dumped anyway. Your mind
writhes inside itself like a snake
inside an egg. "Oh, God," you say,
not even meaning to pray. Oh,
that is angst for you.
Copyright 2012 Hans Ostrom