Not Distributed in Topics

You are not going to find love

You might get a hint of it

Out there

In the simpering folds of panic’s desperate worry

An inveigling taste perhaps

While the heart waits and waits for it’ll never properly

Want

And the heel’s played again without any

Arclight

Or even an abiding angel to its name

Pass the peas and the skeletons

Get swept up and then over

But you

You are not going to find love

Not out there

With your hurried mind and your misshapen soul

Your perpetually packed bags and your lost hindsight

Not in the top shelf of a well-lit bar

Or the warped plaster and mold of a dingy dive

You

You are not going to find love

Not in delirious conversations about Barthelme in the back of two-in-the-morning cabs

Not in all the happy-hours or parties you’ve ever been bored at

Not in the flick of methamphetamine’s furious fire