Frankenstein and King Kong
Were like all lovers: wrong.
Horror is a love and love is a horror.
We are not good enough to love her.
We are beastly. We take her by the hand
And the rivers rushing are the color of the land.
We are hungry, and we walk with her at night,
And we do things and say things and we are never right.
She wants a nice meal. She wants money.
We are the bear in the woods sniffing honey.
Like a sketch by Dürer, we are the skeleton,
Thinking of death beside the smiling maiden.
Rooting for love. Because love always fails.
Along the bay from the restaurant we watch the sails.
The monster, who would be a lover,
Is hated by the mob, the conservative mother.
The rocky path leading from the castle to the sea
Is secretly familiar. Love, too, eluded me.
I can’t change the channel. I have to watch this show.
Horror. Horror. Love is too slow.
I don’t want to do this. Please understand.
I got down on my knees. She told me to stand.
I knew I was handsome, a better poet than Jim.
And yet when I loved her, she was thinking of him.
I loved, I loved. They were rooting for me.
But I was a monster. They felt pity.
In the clearing, where the birds touch the ground,
Snakes feed without making a sound.
Oh gods! Who look down at us from above,
The immortal can root for only one thing: love.