Let’s keep living on advices we love. Wrap ourselves
In nothing cloths on summer evenings and lie about.
Let’s stay put
with grace. Or go on and on without punctuation
We’ll do the whole damn ceremony without it.
And forget prayer.
Let’s renew vows in a garbage dump—or fake a break up
Over the airport P.A. while they all break the other hearts
Delaying flights. Let’s cover ourselves head to toe
In honey, stick on the bandages bought that morning at market. Call up
Love’s captain to drop us off on a strange pier. Linger for a while.
Go back home where we’ve stitched dreams to streams
Of advice in letters across the floor.
And let’s throw in some bad apples too.
Disasters are the parades that remind me why I love you.
And have we already forgotten the too-drunken toasts to what we caught
And what we killed. And what we had but could not hold.
See I had all these plans and no gun to trigger the start. I had all this
Money and no tools to bury it.
All these seeds and
No pots to corrupt
That spectacular emergence.
Collars, but had no dogs. Chains, no commands.
Pride, but no patience.
I promised you the glories of life and came up short on what to do about it just
Yesterday.
So today I listen to advices, mostly from fabled folks
And they say to let love spoil as fast as possible—use it up,
Stomp on its throat,
Move on.
Well, I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve always preferred
the lovesongs you used up on me
To tragedy’s flirtation.
And even then I’m fresh out of my own ideas anyway.
ericryangrant.com 
