Each poem I write, my writing exposes
Me as a poser, my narration as poses,
Cliches I don't do enough to avoid.
The subject of romance makes me a schizoid,
As infatuation awakens a dancing spring satry,
Whose love triangles spark wars in summer's heat. Later,
If unrequited, my poor swimmer dives in the sea.
If successful, I taste love's many nectars as a bee.
As we grow together, so my metaphor grows:
Our dual trunks spread branches, shade life's sun-baked road.
When love ends, I play the victim, or make jokes at my expense.
I decide to write of nature with a studied innocence.
This change of subject serves to clear my mind
Until I seek union again, some new pose to find.
Me as a poser, my narration as poses,
Cliches I don't do enough to avoid.
The subject of romance makes me a schizoid,
As infatuation awakens a dancing spring satry,
Whose love triangles spark wars in summer's heat. Later,
If unrequited, my poor swimmer dives in the sea.
If successful, I taste love's many nectars as a bee.
As we grow together, so my metaphor grows:
Our dual trunks spread branches, shade life's sun-baked road.
When love ends, I play the victim, or make jokes at my expense.
I decide to write of nature with a studied innocence.
This change of subject serves to clear my mind
Until I seek union again, some new pose to find.
No comments:
Post a Comment