If by loving, you mean
conspicuous consumption
of one another’s souls,
devouring each hour
yet hoarding minutes
like secret treasure,
deluding ourselves
that we can keep time
tucked away, safe
in the faulty vaults
of memory – and yet
nowhere is entropy
more apparent, more
glaringly obvious
than in that
which we think
we remember.
– T.H.
Funny you’d say that, I’ve been noticing a bit of a retro vibe to my poems this year (despite the lack of classical form and the occasional inclusion of electric guitars). Probably has something to do with the fact that I’ve been reading and listening to lots of Shakespeare and Victorian-era poets over the past few months. ;-)
I’ve just caught up on the reading through the poems. Evocative, heartfelt, and left with a feeling of reflection. There is, to me, some small hint of St. Vincent Millay in your longer pieces. I like the way they read.