She is the north star,

a precocious lie
I tell myself to get by,
but I wonder why
I feminize hope.

Is it that she intrigues
with what I think I need
to fulfill my basic being?

Is it because love
seems to be the highest thing
a poet can aspire to,
and desiring one of the few
who might be a little like me
and understand my artistry
gives me a modicum
of extra creative energy?

Or is it because
I am deeply in love
with death,
and being enraptured,
totally captured
by another
would smother
my identity
freeing me
from all suffering
by ending all I ever was
in favor of the new person
I might become in love.