Idiot Love
is as deep as a well
that is fed by
the sulferous rivers of Hell.
Its object is clear,
and its prospects are bad -
but rejection
does not make an idiot mad.
He just falls into step
with all idiots wronged:
he stops taking baths,
and he starts writing songs.
He gets gamey and gaunt.
He looks awfully depressed,
but the one he desires
is never impressed.
I've felt a tempest
rise out of a teapot,
and the razor-sharp talons
of world-renowned doves,
but I cannot believe
the incredible speed
with which idiots
fall in love.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
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1 comment:
This sounds a dozen years old.
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