Mid-life lerv, re-served*

The love you used to call 

love – and which 

even then, when you

thought it so damn real,

maybe didn’t heal 

wounds at 

all, but

ripped them

deep and broad and lost

and fully wronged and

never right –

is now in midst of

mid-life crisis: a 

falsity of

calamity of

unreality bewildered.

And this love I once

desired to treasure 

and measure and revere and

here in the murmurings multiple

of your passionate undoings –

and redoings and renewings,

and all the imaginings 

just your presence did lead

me to enjoy –

is now just a toy in the hands

of your universe:

that superficial body

clocking I exhibit so bloodyingly

foolish, and then

this clicking and

hitting on one-night

strangers: oh, the only

lovers you’re able to reach are

those who sell this 

lerv they propose to the highest (where

not lowest) bidders:

and so my right to 

truthful emotion and

that expressing of sensitive 

insensibility I once 

communicated in 

all due honesty 

no longer

resides nor exists

in my life.

For you have excised in your

IT-ed ingenuity the right

of the middle-aged 

like myself to

believe in their 

feelings in any 


And so from

now on in I cannot trust

more in the love

I once professed and wrote

about, so becalmed 

and impassioned: the duality

of unreality striking me

down and so quick: and 

thus you have beaten

my heart into dirt, and

burnt my soul into crying-

grounds of 


and so for this funeral 

pyre of



for this making of me

the hollow basket

case of unsaid life and strife

and wife and true lover,

and icy

declension and

broken retentions and


creations which never ultimately 

refine nor achieve even doggedly 

their premise,

I despise yous all 

right how

Yes I do: and this is why:

for choosing fascism 

over consultation; for choosing

mystery over loving

openness; for choosing to fuck

me, and not fuck

alongside me; for 

testing me and treating

me as specimen, not man.

* The photo at the top of this post is a detail of a painting currently hanging in the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool.

Leave a reply:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s