Prolific, Romeo
Sabbatical,
Romeo, the fruit
of the womb of my time
with you, a noncompliant
sonnet sucks at the vein
of my forearm, washes
the feet of my totem god -

the prophecy of doom
is roomless tonight, a
statue of youth I have
learned to forget for its
obvious conjecture -

Romeo,
Romeo,

fye, the words
are false, our time
was a machine of misuse,
we remember
to forget, refute
and refuse like good
little children in the hungry
mouths of bards and
the clumsy maids
swoon -

born to croon to
soon,

were
we.