About love

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I’m tired of poems about love
Don’t you have anything else to think about?
Isn’t there anything else you could devout
Your life to than having endless discussions
About feelings caused by some crazy compassions,
Delusional, flimsy, unpolished, pejorative
Then suddenly rousing, appraised and arrogative,
Maddening. Deprived of logic, appalling, enraging
Subject, which for millennia has been aging
And long since has ceased to provide satisfaction
Or being engaging
In any way whatsoever
In its public endeavor it has lost all attraction
And here I am writing a poem about love
Trying hard to comply with my worn out repulsion
As I engage in this self-sickening act

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