Author Information
Love is a Lunatic City
Love crosses from isthmus to isthmus, from pain
To pain, with roots aqueous from teardrops
And it seems there are few, very few who can escape
Alcatraz or other isthmus of islanded grief
I search other worlds for you where the salt from
The sea of tears would never touch you, where
No sorrow would ever grow by any inadvertent
Thing I did; where love would flourish and not wither;
Such a world with unlilmited vistas and a hard rock,
Where I could build our nest; such would be the
Type of citadel or fortress that could withstand fate.
Only a home built by loving hands and softness of
Speech where no recrimination would ever enter, instead
Love here is a lunatic city where pain is suckled like mint.
