Years In Compose Poem by R.J. Bevans

And the desolation is fleeting;
Until, through the rations of love and all its variance,
I feed again on the tranquilizing vision of a cooing you
Your concerns and loyalties, your sunless devotion
and sink back down into my easy easy chair.
Just soothed, thankful.
Pillow, I can sleep.
I can sleep near you.

Years, days, eventually, perpetually hungry again
The next grand moment, the recognizable, antipodal Hero: my terror, my displeasure
It mercurizes, tempcomes temptcomes, weepo scratching,
and along with it great Ideas and the sorriest insubordination:
Impracticality mixed with what goes beyond effort or attempting attempting.

My World of fairness;
My World, exactly as it should be
By the difficulty and the properness of a self concurring justice.
Hysterically honest perspective both rightly and wrongly reflected in the sheer immitigable beauty of your face from three-quarters above,
the candle kiss on your broad cheek,
the flicker my flutter,
and by my trapped face of surrender from straight on,
steely and real,
scared of the mirror and him’s eyes.