Baby, even the great lovers fucked it up royally.
Abelard cites as the name-now-nun cries
“She flees to the willows yet wishes first to be seen”,
Poets will sell souls for God when convenience applies.

Think Tristan sighing over poor Iseult, who
Suckled poison for a lover’s moans.
So when they fell, divided, in result, two
Old precedents were added – but potions for pheromones.

Or Rimbaud’s silhouette lips confusing love for need
On the cusp of discovering the cowardice of the pen.
Licking his way to the bullet as it bleeds,
We cheer the victimizing courtesy of older men.

So fuck the perfidy of poetry
Cause there’s a whole lot of limbs left in this world.
And when they come for me, don’t write an elegy,
Baby, this is all the tribute owed to a girl -

Break the walls.
Lick the halls.