‘Cerebral’ is an insult that tells you
nothing, its coy use revealing
mere opinion as to feeling’s
relative worth, its supposed value.
One would think passion in short supply
there’s so much praise of it.
Better a fool’s dance than to sit
and formulate a decent ‘why’.
My heart and its obscure seasons
are my heart’s affair alone.
A lost key, a rusted lock, what reasons
are these compared to the unknown
of false enchantments, and weepy embrace,
the love of a drunkard falling from grace.