Past Joy Everything Else is Death
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
“Le petite mort”
You probe for joy, and probe for joy, then probe
Again, again — more deeply. Joy is there.
You know that long before the twitching strobe
Lights start to flash in darkness. Clinched eyes stare
Completely blind but seeing anyhow.
The gouging then becomes obsession crammed
With dark necessity. You pledge, you vow,
You promise anything to someone rammed
With your affectionate neglect until
This she or he is quite convinced that you
Are not neglecting. Next your slammings spill
Your total essence in your final spew.
By then it doesn’t matter. This and that
Are nothing now because you’ve left your splat.