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.
