On Love
They knew alright
The ancient poets
They knew about love.
Chanting about the suffering
in its nauseating highs
highs that kicked the chemicals
of the body past the tipping point
when the vitals spill slop
impossible to catch or clean
pressing the heart’s gas pedal
as if aging were some
scroll of scenery
in a Hollywood action movie.
So it was for me.
When separated from the lover
The horizon is brown and barren
There is the saintly single minded
Hope for the next fix
To keep withdrawal
From stealing the much sought madness.
Do I get bonus points for not seeing? or hearing?
There is only the opening of the top of the skull
On streaked lead hinges
To the possibilities in the sucking vacuum
Pushing prayers with no flight feathers
That rush on magnetic rails at light speed
With the top down
Eyelids flapping
Squeezing winds
And roots that have lost their grip
On the stomach’s direct connection to a bent soul.
This is the direct speech of life
And no mélange of chemicals
Swirling around a distended center
Can save you from it.
While wrapping your vitals
In the grip of survival
You must simply
Outlast the blast
Of the toppling hurricane
That puts your humors out of balance.
Last, until the body
And its imperium
No longer rules the day.
Joshua Kight
10/4/10