[Union of Tragic-Comedy] a poem

-before we fall into what
always ends an amour fou,
first, you must accept that this life
revolves around constantly a balance,
the tragedy and the comedy;
for you, this entanglement soon to
invite the two of us deep into the
center of each other,
will prove more tragic for you,
still, less comic for my
dis-benefit .This great war that rages,
feeding both sadists living
well between the crevice dis-spirit,
will do either of us any good;
what else then to do than ride
out this storm, unnerving us
like Saplings roots tearing against
their desperate, fate-knowing
woes. 

At what point did man decide that
one skin color outweighs the next?
Why precisely is it that a woman with
a barren womb, a man without
endurable seeds always seem
to shoulder great sadnesses within them?
We may desire the same desire beneath this
identical flesh of texture, opposed of
shade, never escape the heavy drench of
the fertilization which lost its very
spindle to become all what has
never been found, or have never been,
in us-


-draw on this tragic smile to poorly conceal
this father never-to-be, then retract,
fold back onto yourself,
we hear-tell by so many before us,
who've ventured this stretch of
not a single respite away from
swelter,
it is a patch,
that only lengthens if
we refuse our union,
then said, become the third
fate, who cuts what is first spun,
then after measured-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[We'll Always Have Cole Porter] a poem

[We'll Always Have Cole Porter]


-fuck, again,
those vermin neighbors disturb
the hour;

Why exactly did I decide to house
my study juxtaposition to festering,
pledging frat brats?

In my zeal to be free of a much
too loud family, I stepped into
a hornet sting, truly, I cannot claim

I altogether have ever hated-
-your fingering through the vinyls
cease, Cole Porter's voice rises
in gradual hymn,
you turn those feline eyes
towards me, as mine decided
venturing your direction has always
served best why not?

If Cole Porter suggests it,

"Let's fall in love."



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[In Keeping Cautious Love] a poem

In love,
this one particular,
the grasses lean as pushed by a unvarying
drift of wind, below four lights from
every corner of the earth above the
mirrored sea-

-it is of nobody else's affair,
the informal nettle, nestled
a-slight enough to skepticize
other lives you've have yet to
trust with no regard-

-and for crying,
even the whimper you keep for yourself,
sighs selfishly dictated by learned restraint,
undoubted caution, inasmuch the weak,
so abundant, so abound, is the
consistent focal of cannibals,
devout to the savage belief,
to devour anothers' flesh may/can
be the answer to continuum,
till such time the fountain of youth
prevails in pharmacology



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[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]

[By Her; By Him] a poem

What you feel,
he more than likely,
may not feel,
may failed to ever feel-

-those missed opportunities,
no longer of value to be cashed in
to companion,
are re-lived at least a few minutes,
of everyday since their dusting,
the ashes,
wayward, carried, then dropped
into the accumulating rest,
once upon a time too missed chance,
value may mean to you, what it doesn't
mean to him, or may ever be recalled by
him-


Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[Those Discarded Letters] a poem

The handwritten letters 
I wrote to my unborn daughter were
discarded to a bonfire,
the very bond represented in a third-degree scar
on the base of my left leg;
the penmanship is far from legible;
nevertheless, no obscure thought can
convince me otherwise,
that she has no need to read
the redundant expressions,
felt from the dimension,
where I'll see her again-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[On Belief] a poem

Moments where you'll become disgruntled with me are
incidentally inevitable; but whatever you do,
never lose belief in me,
if you can help yourself-

-yes, of course, belief in self in itself is quite a difficult feat,
much less upholding an unrevealed significance, without limb,
withholding something unspoken between us-

-in aloneness, fatigue chronically rears;
within love, exhaustion never accumulates,
can never accumulate, so greatly as to stumble
forthrightness, startle an unnerved belief invoking
a living-god glow from your very collaboration-

-even if the love you've given me,
the lifeline nearly indestructible will,
i'm sorry to confess,
fail to keep this mind from the thought
of all those lovers before you;
you are the day to the night they are
captive in; the counter-balance necessary
if I am to be what I've longed failed to be-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body

[Be Mindful] a poem

-because I am perpetually honest,
truth-tipped spearhead,
never believe if I am blunt,
I am without care of your emotional
response. You can go through all our days
intertwined ,drastically ignoring
every other sentence spat from
the exact orifice which seduced
you when first we met;
the seldom statements, the only
few, I implore to be regarded;

"However anyone plays it, I play it straight,"
along equally "I don't respond well to that."
As I twirl round, cocooned
in blessedness, where next to me, you
inhabit the larger coddling womb,

I cannot even fathom a day where
trust entrusted to you will be shattered,
shattering us,spilling the fragments to
a mess, an impossible puzzle,
a Penrose Triangle;
and if we are to part from
that posthumous trust,
know that I reserve the pretentious
principle overruling all others,
of never having fucked you over
Everyday I fear the return of that
possession of genius, strolling
arrogantly as the blues into the
heart of the hamlet;
that melancholic blues itself,
in its inmost self,
is bearable in small doses,
as I don't respond well when
it takes to its own direction,
lingering rather swiftly passing over,
overwhelming the light,
failing in fade,
unable to puncture much more,
with a blade dulled and broken
at its tip.


Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[Bartering Bargain] a poem

No individual,
not even the one socially labeled the lowest,
nor the one who feels they are worth only that
social inequity,
should sell themselves below worth;
for you,


I'll sell myself even below bargain,
and if you shall disclose beforehand or
display afterwards, sole intentions to use
me up, below bargain still is the price
set preferentially for you-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[Not All Are So Perilous] a poem

-because I have no lover
and no lover has love for me,
how easy I find those reckless dares,
placing life endanger,
all the same,
giving life its significance-

-not all my days are littered
with adrenaline rushing dopamine;
some are simple-

-the other night, stopping in
at a bar, I saw a lady sitting alone;
I ordered a drink, tipping the bartender
to ensure anonymity was kept;

-for the next half hour,
the pleasure of watching her
flush blush, smiling, on her
phone, I imagine she was updating
her girlfriend on the going-ons,
beginning the lush,
leaving her well loose, open
for the man who isn't this man,
to buy her a second-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[Askew Evolution] a poem

How funny it is,
how easily us men can come to
accept our imperfections;
a woman,
she'll fight those imperfections,
if not for her own volition to overcome
it in self-improvement, to grapple
with the competing next woman-


-the how funny, too, it is,
that beauty attracts to preserve the species,
denoting the man's instinct to be noticed,
the woman's need only to be detected


-too, do we humans evolve,
not towards the growing obligation
for man to court, rather towards the
woman's essential need to persuade
the court,
if indeed, in today's effete reality,
man has lost his instinct to compete,
that necessity to court,
lies await, in contra,
until the woman persuades his
rise-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[I've Never Owned a Dog] a poem

I'm a dog lover,
but I've only had a cat and a squirrel;
Balthazaar, as a kitten, caught my eye;
as I approached to cherish those eight
total newly bred, seven fled, she,
just as alert, maybe even more so,
instead pounces onto my leg.
Trail Mix fell from a tree;
Mary, who no longer considers me
a friend, cornered me with stereotypes
of the minority opting cowardice rather
fatherhood,
good for a laugh,

and I would have felt such a tickle,
had I not been bombarded by
other women within ear-proximity;
I took on fatherhood, placed her
in a box, agreed to split custody,
naming her "Trail Mix," what another
woman was feeding her when we
arrived,
taking her for her first father-daughter
stroll-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[Earned Age] a poem

[Earned Age]


Age, amongst those various, commonplace fears
discussed by the vain alive, is anticipated in the merely
life of mine.

Age is earned, too, it,
coupled with scars,
is the only needed representation,
bold & unquestioned,
that the way to survive to see another day
 has been accomplished
 to continue is to confront struggle,
offer a bloody, lingering and simple conflict;
one desires the take, the other desires the stay-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[A Living For Us] a poem

Mon bien-aime,
you've finally returned from making
a living for us,
rose-petal sweet,
joyous and blindly culpable,
readily willing to give your
words of adoration to a novel
you are unaware has been pocketed,
the very novel without a title-

-and back finally in this bed we
share, these arms which have given
you a home within a home,
indulge recklessly, as an unanimously,
unspoken truth between us,
heavily convincing that the world,
in all its marauding merriment and
marveling moments, has finally landed
uncomfortably on its last leg,
and on ours, which is stronger than all
of the shouldering shoulder of the world,
we time and again encounter little we are
unable to hold steady-

-hours pass,
then I wake out of that deep sleep
sedated by our exertion of
accumulated, mustered strength,
as a swimmer bound for a point without
the thought of returning,
just give me a kiss from your lips,
snap reflex to these lips that land on
yours,
awake or in the dreamworld, where
too I am hopeful the twin of my image
too lives,
I depart to make a living for us,
while you anticipate a return neither
of us doubt will always, always without
failure, commit-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[Abject Threads] a poem

 

Look firmly, fair, thoroughly

upon this organic matter, animal

nihilist, all knowing, alien, neither yours,

even never myself self-possessed,

if only to know the tale of a world

a-twirl, all the same rotting-

-today I’ll contemplate if so

I shall cut the thread measured yesterday,

spun just before,

die with youth and the vigor of

truth, bright burning blights and

abject failure still a-fight with might-

-aging knows no sense of awaiting a

welcome, tends to ignore every courtesy

nor gives not another face as to make possible

the existence of idiom-

Dontrell Lovet't-from Collection of poetry [Just a Body]

[If You May Love Me] a poem

When you first informed me that you loved me,
it was a tragedy so soon followed when blessedness
sprawled across my face, became a morbid convincing
unconvinced;

if skepticism has risen,
it is not the refusal nor refute
of your claim of love;
nobody has ever loved me,
so if you do, if this proclamation
has grown so,
a lifetime so long not being loved
has been magnetized,
worth every dark minute since-


Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]

[& Then]

-this heart has long held an infamous,
almost callous reputation worthy of the
promiscuous sort-

-it hides not its head in a shallow
hold to funeral its pulse,
so beats unashamedly with unmistakable
murmurs to those many fragments
of defects, both diagnosed and idiopathic-

-every woman I've laid,
I've
loved uniquely,
note no unfounded suppositions that
those stacks of flat-backed
damsels held no worth-

-if a memoir shall provide itself,
even in the event there is a sought
Kafka-burrow, the grave that shall
hold this body, always only a body,
is one i'll toil in this never-knowing-
never-ending-aloneness,

in that frequent time,
in abundant spare-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]