Love was completely bald and selling medicines
that often cauterized the weeping
but hardly the bleeding.
It barked in Avenues of more Precious
than your usual yearnings…
and gathered all the mice to knit
a sweater for an empty promise
shaped like a girl
with an Undone Polaris
In love with a Loving Drone
in the Queen’s Oblique
like The Last Rampion
in a Carnival
of a Lost
Harvest.

Sometimes, Love was a Baldwin piano
kneeling paraffin and Arthurian Brass
in a Lake Beyond Fire.
Love had the heat of a jewel
in a Vice Grip… and novel pandemonium
as wet as the sea
at the bottom of
The Sea.
There were no explanations
for the inexplicable
as capable as
the Impossible
for a
Start.

we were champions
in Harm’s Navel
And Disarmed.

And The Dark
had a Place
Not
a

Heart.