Hail unrequitted love,
ancient poetic rite of passage.

The bullet-burn of countless ant bites
knawing, devouring at young and tender flesh
empties soup-bowl eyes of suppose'd might,
a ringing scream sprawls out of each biological mesh.

You have never felt anything this full-of-feeling.


Never have you been so overcome
with nausea that you have no out
but to *****.


You have no choice but to cry:
Yet your sacred spillings prompt
your pen to fly.