“How’s He Doing Now?”

“‘You are not worthy to lift
From your wretched slavery’”
—Charles Baudelaire, ‘The Vampire’

It takes all my cognitive power so I cannot think. It takes all my cognitive power so I
Cannot be creative—I cannot write poetry. But that was only keeping me up at night, so what
Use was all that? Whereas this love that consumes me
Meaningfully now: I can put my hard work
Into that—into something in the flesh—and not be at the mercy of my pen. This means
I now practice applied poetry, there being nothing left
In wasted ink that no one gets to read—that she
Doesn’t get to read—with all my time, all my mind being taken up by something
In the flesh instead. And by her flesh, too! For her flesh.
And I love it. I love it.
And although I believe all poetic output goes out into the universe in some way—that it has
Some impact, even from far away; it is also true
That I do have an ego, this meaning
My efforts must be known in the flesh, this meaning
That she must know that it is me
Transforming her being—that it is she
That has me and my pen at her mercy; and that I am devoted
To unpacking her poetic truth—our
Poetic truth—as I always see it
All the time, especially when it is keeping me up at night. So perhaps this love does not take all my cognitive power
After all, because I am still
Writing this, which means we must—clearly—be an excellent fit, me
Her and this. And my ego is all for that, as I can still write an alright
Poem whilst anxiously and eagerly waiting to see if she’ll pick me this time. Pick me
This week! With her maybe even reading one of my poems! And that is so
So creatively consuming and inspiring
To write about—to be kept up all night over.