Women, crazed, because of the polyamorous nature of men,

Reject the good man over and over again;

Monogamy and monotheism are a prison and a bore,

O heart, you feel cheated. O heart, tender heart, you want more.

You want what others have, the love which is over there;

You want the lover behind that dazzling curtain—who doesn’t care.

Crazed, you suffer; you need to be indifferent, too;

You want what doesn’t want—not my happy love which presumed to understand you.

The lake refuses to be a lake, the heart is fed by many streams.

The lake is not one lake. We can’t live. The heart is divided by dreams.

I wish I could be one person. I wish I could give you one kiss

Over and over again. But it failed, even as you were reading this.

I know poets who are dying; they wrote beautiful lines

To the divorced and the crying.

But life is the serene blue sky seen through a tear.

Nature has all the beauty we need—so why are the poets here?

Why don’t the poets see that no one gives a fuck?

Beauty isn’t made. The truth is a big hotel. The truth is a pickup truck.

A blue sky is enough. The best poet I know slaves in a restaurant.

Nature is beautiful enough. Poetry is not what we want.

The love of his life divorced him. This might happen to you

If you write poems. Someone planted a tree. And it grew.








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