III
LOVE
the state of the human condition is shattered
when we see the blood of men and women and children
(o god the children!) on television nowadays -
blood makes me squirm, i don't know why:
perhaps the idea of the body being open
makes me wish to hold my own body together
with staples and twine, anything to keep it
from spilling itself onto the ground
but i think i squirm because the thought of human life
in a red gelatinous form pouring from its body
makes me wonder what in fact made it so
that this essence can escape, taking a life with it
some come from accidents: a slick winter road
here in the Midwest, yet to be salted and tires
just can't hold on for dear life and then life
comes out and covers a tree or pole or the ground that caused all this
(or something of that sort)
but the blood flowing by the means of hands
LORD, how have you forsaken them!
them is those who trusted you in order to make them
alive, filled with life - blood
with this spilling and aching i wonder why
my brethren write poems showing us such rage -
the same rage that makes blood pour from the bodies
of those undeserving
why in this world of blood on concrete and desert sand
do poets wish to keep another blood (anger)
pumping not only through their corse veins
but also in their verses and words and voices?
is there not enough? the cacophony of the matter
lies in rage, lies in ugliness
ugliness in ideas and sickness of the mind
that gets its kicks from watching life pour swiftly (and slowly) from bodies
this poet, this "incurable romantic"
(thanks Lolita) lives for euphony - the idea
of beauty of prettiness and (most importantly)
of love
to keep our minds thinking, churning themselves over
so that when we see that blood seeping from wounds
given by the hands of men
one has to wonder "why?"
all of love - my poems are all of love because dammit
love just makes the world the world -
even those who cause strain in my verse
do so from lack of amorous things:
the love of humanity is what i fight for
and those that threaten that sacred love
that faith that i have striven so hard to retain in myself and man
will be at the hands of my verse
not out of anger, but out of love
what is it i love? beauty
simply beauty in the world that i can taste
and feel and smell and see and hear
and make love to every now and again
remember that every word comes with a little drop
of amor in my poems, and you should drink it in
because it will warm your cold bellies
and make you remember things you love
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