Love is an actor like Pitt, young and handsome and fuckishly fit;
Love flexes muscles so well, takes your breath away just like Denzel.
Seen on the screen by night, love's never paltry, but always delights.
It's Danny DeVito by day, though, when the curtain is taken away.
Love is an acrobat, jumps and juggles and passes the hat;
moves you in strange new ways as you're hypnotized under his sway.
Turning fast somersaults, Eros's gymnastics score 10 without fault,
But leave you with sprains and scars when, inevitably, you miss the bar.
Love is the rupture of heart; its sharp scalpel will cut mine apart.
Only a surgeon could see how to operate so well on me.
This is the intricate pain, come dissecting my frog hurt again.
Eros is clinically bold, and a professional, totally cold.
- ► 2016 (151)
- ► 2015 (62)
- My Dead
- Late Summer Poem
- The Girl @theParisReview Says Uncool
- An excerpt from "Mirror, or a Flash in the Pan"
- New Life 5 (Mistranslation of Joseph Brodsky)
- Autobio, for Robin Williams
- The Course of Grief
- 100 Thousand Poets for Change day is September 27!...
- Izdubar (ekphrastic on Carl Jung's Red Book image)...
- Exorcism (Found Poem)
- AWP 2015 Panel: Daughters of Baba Yaga
- ▼ August (13)
- ► 2013 (27)
- ► 2012 (32)
- ► 2008 (15)