Love Is A Victory

Buried Around Baudelaire

Love is a victory
a raising in the sun
buried with his gun?

Mysterious upheavings
that go beyond 
and then beyond the beyond, 

distances —
bleed reckonings
like rocket feed

license to run off, 
insane 
like a vacuum for pain.

Doubles over 
into beauty
an encircling chase 

effusive with the sublime,
rape by the divine ?
proud, ancient crimes —

Mythic alloys
to the void
grinds tenderness 
into beauty and dust

Recoils 
to a break away 
burning up 
passions in faith
for graces 
and fucks.

Every death 
is a virgin death !
Curls me up 

In a ball again,
in shell sweet hell.
Why do I stay 
why do I dwell ?

Tearing off pieces 
of go between hell
where reckoned 
and fell

My ears
for fears 
screaming in head
the atrocious prognosis — 
its poison, its dead.

Leaves me 
punting for more
carries a flame
doesn’t want to tame,
my studious whore.