Jack Valentine

Image borrowed from Bing

Jack Valentine

Oh, lovely, sick Jack Valentine,

I wish you back a luscious stick of pep’mint rock.
How quickly we forget the sleeping maidens
and lovesick lads we’ve devoured. --David

Don’t Victimize Me by your “We”

Claim victim for how long, Love?
Go tell that to Cupid’s Psyche!
Adonis would rage at you or us
Unless you meant the royal “we”.
Hippolytus and Phaedra paid,
The innocent laddie quartered
Like a car-wrecked side of beef.
Venus was the meanest mother
Any lover of another could wish.
No, smug Eros wanted to skewer
The maidenhead of Santa Teresa--
call God’s fuck rapture, if you will.
Meeting your own needy gaze,
or that of a single beggar will do,
but hope she isn’t some prick in drag.
The priest might be Diabolos
Grimly eyeing your pink tenders
radiating in your BVDs.

It’s you, you, you, you hoooooo!
You want! You need! Not I or we.
I’m burnt up, barbequed enough
And transformed to wizened sage.
None of that multi-souling for me,
thanks, no oraga(ni)sms neither,
resculpted nor even reconstituted.
You got that competition correct:
Love competes for us all and she,
or he, or Mr. Iddy will tuck you in,
bloody feet n’all with glass shards
intact, to show how really sweet it is.

David Gilmour.