“Let’s try this one more time with feeling”
A utopia of artists that yearn and ache,
swoon and paint in scarlet hues,
erratic slashes at the dripping canvas.
The poet and the playwright
sit on barstools slopping lust
from wine glasses, jagged fragments
of insincere words lacerate
their eloquence of speech.
Confined to test tubes and
the bevel of our needle points.
Thrill seekers, pill pushers, we ride
the opioidal wave from start to finish
bathing in vasopressin and soaking
in our heaving ocean of oxcytocin.
We pave the neurochemical path
from frenzied mind to yearning heart,
only to meet headlong in this multi-
hormonal pileup.
Pulled out from amidst the wreckage
by reason; we are dazed and confused
to find our heart holding us at gunpoint
but sadly it's us, who inevitably
pull the trigger.
Note: In the second stanza I'm attempting to capture the medical essence of love, but I think it's too cluttered with scientific terms. Suggestions?
