Poets In Love

The Reason He Went To Hell

Then started he on an expedition
to find, start and end a great love affair
filial the heart hurt all along
before and after it drown
in it's own sweat
the first, second and third person poultice
lost in the lapel
dissimulating all the damn time
serial killer of comfort
with one goal in mind
to find, start and end a great love affair
the great stages of barbarism
tight in his tiny loins expressive
wanderers whose hopes
fall gently into well arranged lines
they must meet in a station
they will and forage for pleasure
as insects do at the body of another bug
not one at a time in stages
or two at a time in stages
or a simple process dragon lust
he began to write with great satisfaction:

crybabycrybabycrybabycry.

The Reason She Left Him

She tended to the chores
of love on a wintry day
mended the mishaps sewed
into little knapsacks of flour
twisted all the bottles
and set them in the fridge
nothing left to tidy up
in the kitchen where she wept
over someone else's misery
for the very last time
caught up in the deadly newspapers
identified only by the numbers
on a false breast, her last wish
in a suitcase, dis-remembered
and she wrote:

I'm just getting started.