Tuesday, 15 July 2014

All My Heart



Do not worship, attend

To your broken imageries

Of love lascivious,

Scorn like the brightest star.

Even poets lack subtleties

When pushed to doubt self-doubt

That any could find it right here.

Purple asides, aside

What is the dreaming left with?

Hunger for the genuine

On the altar of authentic

The non-mediated.

Love, aside, crouch low

Silent footsteps

Or the rush, prick, twinge

Ache, for those with secret freedoms.