“Love Verse is long dead—
only great truths stir
the pained world’s revolt”

my miffed lover said,
yet could not deter:
“All verse is a cult…

we thread words for fame
or sanity—or
themselves; and Love’s fault

is Man’s…how all came
forth from dreams held dear
to him, Sensing’s salt

in his wound, the same
hue as Love, its peer.”