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ask the moon

two approaches
two dead ends.
love doesn't die it just slips into your
back pocket
shifting uneasily
like detached spiders legs
you must remind it
that there's no where left to
run.
bodyless memory
entity unto itself.

towards and away
connected at their ends
by the circumference
of doubt.
each movement the derivative
of mute-faceted equations
that click away
between want and
denial.
you approach the subject
of love
with drama and a 
top hat
twirling on a cane
with a razor edge.

slicing into
and stretching up
stopping up flows
that quench the need for
chronic seepage.
love has answered none of the
questions
least of all
are you able to love?
or can love exist
in the spaces you have left it?

at first love looms
like the steps of a library
littered with strange words
as you peer through the knees of
understanding
time alters the grandeur of
romance
revealing it as mere discovery.
then the first house
the patch of green
and the settlement grows
a cancer
or a mass of promises-
either way it seems incorrect.

and so the long
goodbye
a deja vu of ripped ligaments
and voided wombs
love remains transient
a boarder in the back of your
mind
an impossible achievement 
incomprehensible as
immortality
while love,
the primeval
cytoplasm,
alters its shape
in order to survive.

are we left with
nebular inconsistency
or with
love?
ask the moon 
it will reply
"rocks"
ask the universe
and it will remain 
silent.

Joseph A Adler  copyright 1975

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