You sing those glorious arias promising love’s transmutation
do nothing to warn me of the sobbing obliteration of my future

You posit lilting imagistic lyrical fantasias of nature
can’t be bothered to save my dying dog

You rend with anguishing tales of human suffering
mock the distended belly of the starving child

You promise illumination, eternity, and succor
for this I gifted you with everything: intellect, awe, love, music, being

You think you’re so sophisticated, nuanced, infinite, and gorgeous
today I understand what lies outside your scope and cannot forgive you

Dear Reader: I can’t find any true poetry today, my dog is terminally ill. I did try to write a poem about orphans of ideology, maybe it will come out tomorrow. For poetry without melodrama see Witnesses which was written for the grandmother my dog is named after or my other Pasquinade (for my heart) Right now poetry and I are only speaking with one another thanks to the public affection pressures of NaPoWriMo in which we made a vow to see each other through the end of the month. Don’t worry, I’m sure poetry and I will have truly earth-shattering, mind-expanding, soul-blossoming makeup sex soon and we’ll get back to business as usual bringing you multimedia, philosophical, experimental, lyrical, mythic, confessional, occasionally humorous, epic, form, and free-verse poetry.