Sunday, February 14, 2010

Valentine's final hours, the poor bastard.

St. Valentine wrote a love letter to his jailer's daughter. He fell in love with her supposedly. I think if this is true it might be the first example of Stockholm Syndrome. Now we celebrate this mental abnormality by sexing one another.
As I write poetry often for my wife, there is little that I make public. I wish for her to compile it all after my death and put it out as a book of poems for her. This idea isn't new but it is my way of offering something to her that is not offered to anyone else, as I do not have much I have this and it is for her only.

I don't hate flowers

I fill the page
I write this on
with flowers;
on the other side I sketch my wife,

I 'm not terribly fond of flowers.
though I tend to stoop and pet them,
I would as soon pluck one from the earth
to curry favor from my wife as I would
to plant one.

 - I wrote this.

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