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eyes of wild abandon



I love you as if I owned the stars.

a thought such as that is like a wild horse,
& we wonder if it can be wrangled into a poem.

is there a place where love does not die in a dream?
we, who are so full of romance, it makes us quiver,
we long to discover that place, & be transported there;
because, as Cummings envisioned, it is somewhere
we have never travelled.

Paul Valery said a poem is never finished, only abandoned,
& da Vinci said the same of art. I place ellipses (alluvials,
Kerouac called them) at the conclusion of my wayward
poem, to acknowledge that I have reached the point where
I must abandon it. of that incompetence, I am guilty.

is love so fragile that we must assign it the mighty metaphor
of a heaven adorned with celestial brilliance, the vastness of an
ocean, the towering of a mountain? I’m a vagabond minstrel, &
if I claim to love you, all I can give are the words of a poem.

the land of nomadic lovers is primitive. if you follow me, we
must pluck the fruits of passion from gnarled trees to satisfy
our hunger, & quench our thirst at a stream of tears.

I will never possess the brittle diamonds
that are tiny flames in the sky,
but as long as there are stars,
I will love you…


(Art: Marc Lagrange)



Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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