Bravado in bed is bad —- Bravado
in verse is worse. “I’ll make you scream, I’ll make
you cream.” Then what? You’ll steal my spleen? I know,
Poe, lust is cruel when we wake with an ache
we just can’t soothe. But no one cares about
affairs. Trysts with poltergeists at least shows
labored thought outside the box, but I doubt
it would occur to you, since your great woes
are all about not getting laid. “Get laid.”
It’s what chicken eggs do. Put down the pen.
Do you want love? This is what you shall do—-
“Love the earth and sun
and the animals, despise
riches, give alms to everyone
that asks, stand up for the stupid
and crazy, devote your income
and labor to others, hate tyrants,
argue not concerning God,
have patience and indulgence
toward the people, take off
your hat to nothing known
or unknown or to any man
or number of men, go freely
with powerful uneducated
persons and with the young
and with the mothers of families,
read these leaves in the open air
every season of every year
of your life, re-examine all
that you have been told
at school or church or in
any book, dismiss whatever
insults your own soul,
and your very flesh shall be
a great poem and have
the richest fluency not
only in its words but
in the silent lines of its lips
and face and between
the lashes of your eyes
and in every motion
and joint of your body.”
—-do that once more. You’ll never get betrayed
by love again. You will be love again.
You’ll walk this earth burning, mad, fiery.
][][
notes:
The long quote in the middle is from Walt Whitman’s introduction to his massive poem, “Leaves of Grass.” It’s one of the best moral codes I’ve ever read.
