Memoir/This Poem/Another Poet
the reality of it is it’s the unreality of it.
an unusual sex triangle without the sex,
and with it actually being diamond-like.
there’s her and me, then there’s this she.
myself excluded, this she and her exist
equally befriended to the other’s where.
but here is just me, amplified in my Sin
-clearly way between a need and a want:
one hand firm in this poem’s; on the other
hand i’m beside myself, relentless jives
fetched at in all these mid-thoughts over
how equally obtuse and acute the heart
-beats will surely become once the reality
of this crush i’m stomaching in this like-
wise unreality sexes me back to the ring.