To speak fire
these days, to claim
desire in a fierce consumptive
manner, is no longer a popular notion,
no longer in vogue. It is an outworn,
outmoded, out-dated form of expression.
We know too much,
we know too much
about the brain, its bio-chemical feeds
and chains,
know too much about disorders,
dysfunctions, and behavioral range,
we have cased the bomb-shelters
and burned-put hovels in which
our inner children live, wrestle,
wrangle, and mate,
we know too much
to risk in words–
I want to possess you,
be possessed by you–
the talk of angels
and Neruda-speak
are no longer aural emblems
of deeply dreamed longing ,
but rather implications
that qualify one for
unhealthy dependency
(i.e., We present to you Exhibit B).
Souls can no longer burn
freely, like dumb primal
wildfires, love has become too
smart, it knows too much
about itself, its causes and effects;
to speak fire
is a cranial threat, an admission replete
with its own keys and warden, but to not speak it
is a death for those who still believe
in tongues
and words
as clumsy attempts
at impossible measures.