This hurling war of quotes and axioms
though tiny cyclones whips, is neither quip
nor wit and whets my appetite for flip
and droll. Enough of bushed, whacked tedium!
We stir up dopamine to maximum
to counteract adrenaline’s cold grip,
I understand. Grind my teeth, bite my lip,
consume myself through false encomium.
By stepping to the side a small degree
the hormone-flooded deathwish disappears
and in its place, a true society;
no sucky wuv, no groper’s creepy leers
but love, full-courted, lusty harmony
where laughter reigns in elegiac spheres.
© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image: “Elysian Fields”, undated oil on canvas
by Arthur Bowen Davies