Tag Archives: love

HEPHAESTUS

HEPHAESTUS

the cripple

even Hephaestus
by dint of marriage vow and
obligation

got to fuck wife Aphrodite and her
to make pretty for him

and despite her best beauty instincts
to to thunderously climax
thinking of
lover Ares, brawny beast personified,
of his depth of
possession and strength of
control

nevertheless, thrilling her husband
with, even if not for him,
sweet loving words
whispered into her ear

much despite her better must
be what I am true
sexual goddess judgement

for this time at least
willing to do ugly if not
entirely in the cause of charity,
this somewhat
adulterated by
something
difficult to differentiate between
love
that suddenly makes
an appearance from nowhere
and pleasure, that is
what it is, and, by rule of thumb
(and fingers
and everything, should never be
withheld, denied or
unreasonably contained)

YOU ME

YOU ME

you water sign
me water sign

would I could
just dissolve right
into you

first, of course,
panper you, enter you

let you
     suit me, fit me,
to a T

all night working religiously
to synchronize, synchromesh
get gears
     of love smooth
sailimg

         faultless to the touch
zero non-tolerance
spot
   and stain-free

LOCK

LOCK

love is that
gleaming apple
too high

up
the tree

it is
the death bed of the intellectual
fatal aporia
kills
their categories

it is the puzzle
with too many pieces
for the box
infinite choice

the blurb on
the sleeve

pity barely any fit together let alone

interlock

and you told yourself
it would be all too easy

are we not
so perfectly designed for this?

BUT THEN

BUT THEN

poets marrying poets
do not do well

let me labour
the obvious: on
the one hand

Ted
   on the other

Sylvia

and on the other
      I leave that to those
scrutinizing their
letters
   delving into
           their lives

this whole enterprise
a dubious affair looking
                for dubious affairs

something
     about love and poetry

in this configuration
such a curious mismatch

amusing in a sense

    but then there is death

SOMEONE ELSE

SOMEONE ELSE
“My only regret in life is that
I was not born someone else”.
                 Woody Allen

you looked through that
special drawer

for mementos, treasures,
precious relics of time past

you you found were
poems, love poems
written
    for someone else

told
their own story

self-
explanatory

no comment necessary
or required

it is always; there
is always
     someone else

it iz in the nature of desire
who we are
     you don”t need
a doctoral thesus on
Jacwues Lacan

to figure it out
    but it just might help

things
might help

and everybody ultimately
knows that ws all
want, wish
   we were someome else

want to pour our hearts out
to somone who might love
us, want us
or at least listen

but they have no time
for you
      and your pain and
all ypur somebody else troubles

becausw
   in the hearts they know
what you are
is
    less, is negative
is not what

they thought

          too young you were
to figure out the disappointment
on all those faces

first breath
you took

    meant for somebody else