Email Poem

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Poem

Float like a butterfly
Sting like a bee

Has the light gone out for you?
Because the light's gone out for me
It is the 21st century
It is the 21st century

Him. Her. Hic. Ille.

I.

Code of Love,
Code of Love,
Me, Myself & I.

I watch them strut altogether,
so hallow, so callous,
with their curved vacuum Troys,
ephemeral snares unsurpassed, 
and tigers' eyes of guile pierce  
as I saunter past.

And for pyre do they reel
those off-guard shallow hearts,
with words of honey 
from lips of the Promised Land,
yet stare inwardly out
as spiders; embittered nests;
The Age of Jest.

Code of Love?
Code of Love,
A shortest skirt
and up above
is a lush, meticulous
sewer
that beckons spelunking— 
So may Aurora
Always be my guide.

II.

Lackadaisical waves play 
on the unanswered shore
of the male bluebird who has lost his Her.
Lions in the bathroom 
loose their fearful, familiar sound:
warm scream (nay, Vesuvius),
quick after Reality’s shadow.

Degenerate
lint lines my pockets, I let it pile as my Powers
dwindle dwindle dwindle 
before her time-strewn features.
Lunacy abbreviates sallow bones under yellow moonlight
an eve sixty years in the future in the mirror
and and and—
warm scream.

Liquor dances
with meteorites: weaknesses
loving Freedom. They are so Free.
free 
to enslave my heart for recipe
as Reap’s laughter sips
from the looking-glass
it's my skull.

Dear Madam, 
that has so graciously
yanked my celibate hand
my autumnal voyage of red,
may I have this
one wish upon a star?

I wish,
that in your beating heart
that quickens when you touch my
tarnished, waning soul,
I did not already hear 
petering there
The Coda of Love.

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