[I Can Love You All] a poem

There is an encourage of this one,
the discourage of that one; both which
makes an equidistant of culpability and
a third victim-

-it is surprisingly intoxicating,
to keep women on the run, as
a piece unfinished still proves sharp
and acidic, vibrantly alive, hilarious
in its specific tragic-comic sort-

-to hear those adored women share
something of themselves gives a ghost
of white tangled in the most awful;
always, I am reduced to watching their
hands, their mouths, decoding the beloved
feminine alignments, terribly distracted,
swooning into pale blue drowned up-aboves,
a tortured heroine, failed Prince so removed
from the finality to reach a life-desired throne
murder becomes him, becomes crafted method-

-staring down the self-induced squish between
two so magnificent decision is indecision,
but with all bright, fortunately distant,
thrilling senses of wildness and freedom
pacifies, swept heroics from a Greek poem
romanticizing love and battle through their kisses comes a communicable
radiant warmth, life, the surrendering second-by-second
entirety of aloneness-

-to enthrall additional passer-byers,
the liberal indifferent, feminist deconstructionist,
Persian women who pull aside their Hijabs just
enough to expose a bit of silken, jet black hair,
inviting the utmost affronting men propelled
by biology,
they too are very dear to me the very same;
If they are noticing me, I too, surely, have
begun to notice them, dreamily musing,
in hopes to manage to dream myself directly
into a dead fall, survive, to exclaim about
the wonder of survival-

-for all, excluding none of those ladybirds,
this constitution is a great worry, bothersome,
as they fear to induce any available shock waves
in case those waves startle me away;
impossible; so as this character is a fixed one,
abandoning those nearest is an impossibility;
subjective in deficit, sleep in frequency
becomes too an impossibility,
the night,
allotted, lengthy stretches,
contemplation, frightfully astounding,
pages drafting proofed improbability,
foolish elocution,
open to opportunistic lovers,
with initiative, they discover the sole
chance I'll aid them in digging a claimed
place in the boneyard-
- another terror that details will be so
magnetized (?) a trip of the trigger makes
the deadened, hopeless areas in this man
deep malignancies corrode so surgical cure
cannot intervene-
finally, their (those many beloved, past, present, future)
dreadful visitation, in pressure, nausea, thrumming in the
airless study, easily making all social claustrophobic
and uneasy, inevitably furrows skepticism;
the ideal of me dissolves for the better,
anxious, steel-spine frailty, with rattled sighs,
ragged breaths, horrendous complexity,
of when loves implies irrationality;
everything is emptier in the fluctuating chatter,
lost becomes the mainstay vibrancy of our voices,
crushed of full delicacies, wings clipped so finely
regeneration aborts repair
& the whole lady you've come to me as,
departs in fragments,
leaving the pieces,
from the first moment,
I desired most-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]