from The Master Circadian Clock Cycles 1-8

Sex
pathological,
pathologically lacking impetus, beholder,
you, Love.

Eros, settle, disarm.

Patience eludes the grand master
with the lightness of eloquence
and weight
of all the mores’ profundity
interpacked,
brimming with botulism
and you, Love.

Etiology
smears passion
across spokes of wheel,
spreads legs of soul
through soggy white of eyes
bleeding with

dishonest passion
denied,
not you, Love.

Joy is dead,
and with the sacrilege of sex,
the heydays of former lovers
fall away
like flakes of winter skin,
and finally
there’s you, Love.

photograph by Gia. Goa, India.

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