Search billions of records on Ancestry.com
   

To love

The smoke goes out the window taking
its proper time.

Mine is no mineral heart like yours,
sinister, unwilling, oddly
brave. This is not what I
was saved for, to be lice in your hair
so pluck me out and leave
for another country,
the blonde, the beautiful.

I would retire if I only had
a summer of his care,

2

What is this made of?,
Marble? Granite? Diamond?

Analyse.
Analyse everything:
volcanic ash and under the
microscope the culture changes during
the four hours you
do not watch most of all,

I have seen young boys dedicated
to collecting butterflies,
I saw monarchs and swallowtails,
New Guinea Goldens etherised
and pinned to cardboard.

3

Your great heart will crack,
the marrow weaken. With no little
love I tell you this. What little
I have. I thought a poet would care
for even such things.

The sublime --
have you seen it anywhere?
Your night words fall over me.
I gather them and clothe you;
this is not so, not so.

But when I lisp and stutter
you suspect the lie and even as this
body I hold.

Good bye and so allons.
Hang on to the key.
The conclusion bars applause,
for what man reveres another
before he invades him?

Think nothing but blackness:
not so deficient as the distance
from here to there. It outcultures
my life: its full moons,
successions and the pathological
use of words.

Had I the moon in my lap
I would outrun you all.



back to Shreela's home page
or to the table of contents
Email for comments