If You Must Hide Yourself From Love
It is important to face the rear of the train
as it leaves the republic. Not that all
departing is yearning. First love is
a factory. We sleep in a bed that had once
been a tree. Nothing is forgot.
Yet facts, over time, lose their charm,
warned a dying Plato. You have to isolate
the lies you love. Are we any less
photorealistic? I spot in someone’s Face-
book sonogram a tiny dictum
full of syllogisms. One says: all kisses come
down to a hole in the skull,
toothpaste and gin; therefore your eyes
are bull, your mouth is a goal.
Discussion of pain from love, and the complications that can arise.