Valentine in Time of Bitterness
HEN THE LAST POETS have wrapped themselves
in burial shrouds of pc and more than vaguely
When the songwriters cartel finds its compass smashed
its public so
of true deep quiet emotion seems more like ancient history
or science fiction
When our writers, drunk with visions of movie contracts,
all morality and proportion
Like White Star
dismissing icebergs as contrary to the beliefs
of their sodality
These three words, "I Love You,"
will still be
even if said or
meant only from you to me
or me to you.
And that's reality.