Can’t Not

I can’t not

Write about L-O-V-E

And all of its Forms, of which there are

F-O-U-R

First Form:

A stickybright day spent on our bellies –

Naked, comfortable –

Asses plump but low-down in the greasy grass.

We stare into a slowly moving hose-stream

And watch the grass clippings crash,

Churn, collide –

You roll onto your side.

Second Form:

Business expenditures deemed well spent –

Steely-eyed commerce begetting

Valhalla of inkjet printers –

Envelopes of hot fucking cash turning over.

Third Form:

It’s gotta be A-S-S again, in some second form.

Umm, excuse me Mister Miss Sir Madam Ma’am

Since we’re stuck inside

Car broken down

Can’t get a ride

Windshield wipers broken

Raining raining raining

Think you could spare a little bit o’ that behind?

Fourth Form:

I will L-O-V-E to die –

This form is nought but prediction!

A switch will flip and I’ll be far, far, far –

No way to uncast the D-I-E –

Even if some Other Lover finds me

Resuscitation will fail that night.