there is an eyeball in my heart
that can no longer squint away the pain
its pupil dilates and it has no lids
it sees when the clerk smiles false
when the child pretends to love because
how else can the loveless be endured?
Diotima from this rung of your ladder
both top and bottom disappear in fog
shapes dim and not so dim move up and down
the eyeball in my heart makes out
the son who is prodigal but never returns
the father who wants to reach but can’t
who says i can climb higher?
my eye can’t close and my limbs grow tired
only my hand clings to your ladder
knowing you have touched it
kind fierce Mistress of the Wise
i am glad
love,
- john o.
The eye is Beauty's own
ReplyDeleteJoke winking
Like a mole on the side
Of Diotima's white-toothed ladder
Love has no holds
No steps to climb
No rungs for hands to cling
No up nor down
No squint or frown
No beautiful form
No nothing
everything!
ReplyDeletebravissimo to the quintessential lovers,
bowing, turiya