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Twelfth Love Poem and Twelfth Song of Despair

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Let us not save each other for special occasions.


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When I got out I didn't buya new suit of clothes, stepinto a bar, or bargainfor an hour with a whore.I walked from McGee Streetover to Russell and wonderedif Bus 16 still went out of its wayto loop around the traffic knotat the shopping mall. It'd drop you thereif you had…

When again?

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will we begin again?We are a wheelFirst touchfirst kissfirst heatThey fade, disappear, come back again.Spokes in our wheel.When again shall we begin again?I hold you and feel myself spincaught in the whirlwind of thrill -the world, saturated with your scent.We hold each…

not Baudelaire's “Beauté”

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I charm as any stone-sculpted dream: / men grind themselves to dust on my breasts / in solitude poets spill and spew / enraptured of my adamant clay.


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I sometimes wish I had in my brain a switch next to the illuminated image of you. A toggle I could turn off that this haunting would be exorcised. Or perhaps I could undergo a session beneath that clever contraption zapping the bits of Joel Barish's gray matter in which…