Cupid

However exhausting the ex lovers
that punctuate the lines
may be, there is one thing
for certain, it better not be me.
Time, for what it is worth,
doesn't wait. Even for itself.
I see that one everyday
hidden in the fender of an old car,
standing atop a bowl of lemons
crouching in the store window.
Nothing more than reflections,
little lights, darks and assumptions:
this must be a car, that must be
the 12th of May.
It used to be the sale of a soul
measured the length of our kisses.
Now it's the time between
Xarelto and Entresto,
named by the Gods themselves.
This is the ejection fraction,
here is insufficient data,
the disclaimer contains words
like 'hope' 'will' 'as soon as possible'.
Remember: it is a disclaimer.
After all is said and done,
after all the photos have been strewn,
the typos corrected,
our belongings divided between
the thrift store and museum,
the vacuum of our latitudes,
and longitudes, these solar polar
bang bangs shift into high gear
and since it is all towards
the famous improvement
of our generation,
you know, the one that escapes
the fate of the Anasazi, escapes
La Brea, escapes the dreaming-
of-a-steak Las Caux pictograms,

Since it is that.

Dearest Darling, Happy Valentine's Day.
The heart is a pump.
The soul is an occupying army.
These winds might blow it up
towards Jupiter.
I hear it looks like paisley
and the rain lasts longer than the year..