Ah, you will always be that egotist
Who I met, befriended, and kissed,
And all the rest, though I felt you would fall
Back into that state where you had no personality at all.
And I will always be that poet who knew
You would tire of egotism—you are, but you are not, you.
Now you’re a feel good poster of capital-letter cliché.
BE GOOD TO YOURSELF. LEARN FROM MISTAKES YOU MADE YESTERDAY.
Surrender to the “wisdom” crap, in which all you are
Surrenders. Close the door. Adorn it with a gold star.
I will always be an egotist. I practice to be
More musical, with more harmony,
Such as you find in Cry Me A River, when the G
Chord arrives out of the B flat diminished chord surprisingly
And cheerfully: in the key, I yet move, slightly, out of the key, playfully
So in all that great sorrow, in all that wonderful revenge, I resolve
A love that I love, but also, solve
Forever. The artist—it’s me, my love—conceals
Myself, behind what the art—ah, the art—reveals.
