“Let me repeat what history teaches. History teaches.” – Gertrude Stein
To write a poem of love you first ascribe:
Tyrant, lover, white teeth oxide kisses
Dissolves hard rock, the putty sky,
slants rain, the animus of kings – of seas –
Draw a pail of volition from the well:
Ties up the flame, rebuilds glaciers – yet – but demands of light,
“Yield and bend to my will!
Without my word! No one shall live through me!”
The third, imply the source of all your doubts:
O Such pretense! Who worships such a god?
Can I see true with you in my graey eyes?
Newborns may thrive, after, when cord is cut – has cut.
At last – and then – the spill: Who serves whom, dear?
Your nature is to rule – to rue; and mine, oppose.