the half-life of love is forever

The reason I prefer to write in forms other than poetry is that i feel like everything everyone says is poetry (like: the half-life of love is forever) and yet everything is not apparently poetry — everything does not have the correct intention, carefulness that poets have when they write. Life is unpoetry. So I’ve been writing unpoems, bad poetry that hopes to acknowledge the poetry everywhere and the (un)poets in all of us. As a tribute to real poets though, I want to include a poem I read this week, by Yusef Komunyakaa. I include this in deference to real poetry, and because I do not feel like finding unpoetry today. Just the real kind. Because: poetry is the goddess of language — imposing meaning, past and future on our chaos.

Epithalamium

We washed away the live perfume
Of others, removed lush memories
Of their hands, trying to ignore kisses
Burning in our mouths, songs

Left in the ear, next
To a flowering bone. The hills
Climbed in the midnight blue distance
Were each other. Pasts, detours,

& inclines dazzled us with mirages,
Chanced escapes. The city’s roughhousing
Light-years away; no amount of blood red
Sirens could tear us apart,

Not till the blissful damage
Began to heal. Our beasts, a lion
& bull, slept side by side, as if born
To remove the other’s curse.

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