Sunday, 3 June 2012

Untitled Poem to My Love

Outside it's raining
so maybe
why I'm writing this
does not need explaining.

I once heard a punk poet say
that he wrote his poetry
around the kernels
of only a few lines....

If I could see your eyes
with each and every day
in different light, tone, temper,
I would write you quatrains.

I would write you quatrains,
and turn my life into poetry
and my flesh into sonic vibrations;
I would sew you into the air,

and publish them in your ear,
softly, on the end of my spear.
Now, wouldn't that be dear?
Fuck the rest: they can think it queer

for all I care.
For the tongue is a spear,
and the heart is a torch;
and good love debauched is the only thing I fear.

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