I looked for love as though it could be
fish hooked from the sky
tasted in cracked nuts taken from a squirrel’s
mouth, splintered alley bricks
coated by a callgirl’s tongue, soldered
sacrifices woven from a crow’s nest
shingled stuff from a house divided by too many
colds uncared for.
Epiphany of sorts in that Calvinistic clouds
trapped me before birth.
Degrees already determined, love may as well
be found as anachronistic
Victorian gas lamps replaced by Tesla’s
crusade to have all
carried forth on humming