The best is when you realize something new.
Nobody can tell you if it’s true. You synthesize the world you touch
with mile high calloused fingers, apotheosis tested by
the Spartans in your wake.
Surround yourself with easy money, cheap thrills
and you will realize nothing. Falling in love
is a good way to shed your dinner jacket and cook up
a strange feast of cage free innuendo. When you love
you don’t need canned laughs and small change.
You can sing It Ain’t Me Babe to hucksters who would own you
with their high minded low art. You can butterfly olympic style
your chrysalis a-blowin in the wind. Being in love
is being at war, your senses heightened by the paradox
of death and rapture. Love admits you lose yourself,
the awful underbelly of desire.
And if you think you’ll never be forever young again,
nymphs and lizards tearing at your sleeve,
hush the wary whispers for the brain’s a
penitentiary victim of the mind, the great and greedy
harbinger of culture. Switch it off and shut it down
this hoarder of your time - and turn to love the votive and the vulture.
Here lies your pleasure, here your gate, the doorway to your fate.
Hear your lover and your self, breath taking.
Photo Susan Weber, North Beach