Suspect Routes
Beyond this camp lies everlasting snow,
smooth marble, bones picked bare: Frigid abode
where spurned fools pour gasoline on embers,
feeding unspoken thoughts to their remorse.
And fire answers promptly, jumping higher —
hot roar exploding with the hoarse
cough of a predator bent on murder.
Thus life consumes so many who set forth,
pursuing happiness on suspect routes —
by ambulance, like garbage down the chute,
in darkened rooms with fever through the roof.
Stripped of their peace, such pilgrims take the whip —
self-shriven — chastisement supplying proof
against derision when one’s darling slips
away in snowglobe swirls of yore; when loose
tongues are undone; when absences persist
as loss, and even nightingales fail to seduce.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Explain the Heart
Inflamed by myth, the hero’s broken heart
Spills floods of love, which slosh and spread, wine-dark
At midnight — or whenever girls shed clothes.
Heart in his throat, he fears old fears exposed.
Explain the hero’s heart.
Primarily a symbol to the young,
Seat of affection, instrument to strum,
Red swoop pierced by an arrow when in love,
Abode of peace should truth come from above —
Explain the heart!
Just ask his cardiologist, okay?
Five hours on the table — no one prayed.
His heart’s a fancy muscle, hauling freight.
Its murmured rhymes seem utterly passé.
We don’t require poetry today.