You have no appointments with me.
All love, and even my sweetest poetry,
Simply remains. And when you fall off the cliff,
Your last appointment (your death),
In the downward fall, unable to catch your breath,
Accelerate past the big fraud of your if—
O the speed! O the speed!
The incredible amount of your need
At last you will know
As you hit the distant rocks below.
I didn’t make any appointments with you.
Didn’t you figure out how love works?
Love has nothing to do
With important professionals, appointments,
Hope fed to you by all those jerks.