i found a note on my walk to the campus, that read <br />from one friend to another, 'my boyfriend writes <br />me the prettiest poems.' and i think to myself, 'why <br />waste such precious time on love? ' <br /> <br />it hits me at 12: 10 as i am up the first set of stairs <br />to my next class: what will he have, this young poet, <br />(more than likely) dressed in a pressed black suit, beret, <br />and wide-framed glasses, with his composition book <br />of empty pages covered just by the length <br />of his right arm, with his space pen to write in any <br />direction (but a decent one) , when he feels his <br />left common carotid artery send a message <br />to his brain that love is all an ideal and the brain relays, <br />through the superior vena cava, blood that will make it all <br />fall apart? <br /> <br />though, this is not the heart. it's the pathway <br />of the amygdala that tells us, 'Love is false.' <br /> <br />and to be that pathway: the one that leads us <br />through every doubt and fear and the ways to end <br />it all. to see every inch he measures out of his parents <br />garden hose, a little more than enough to extend <br />from the exhaust pipe to his driver-side window (add <br />an extra inch or two for trucks and suv's) , or the red <br />marker that spots the direct path to the heart <br />for his second-edition Renaissance-style dagger to follow, <br />the number of pills and the right brand of rubber <br />bands to tie a plastic Hefty bag over his head, or will <br />he be simple? <br /> <br />i reply, leaving the letter by the Rose Of Sharon <br />Bushes, asking, 'what method will he use when the <br />poems stop? ' <br /> <br />my neighbor committed suicide the other <br />night. and to think, i speculated murder for some <br />inspiration to write a poem. but the case was simple: <br />his body is in in a pool of thick blood, and a note <br />i took from his right-pocket reads, 'i went for a breath <br />of fresh air.'<br /><br />Travis Bowden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-the-poets-stop-writing-about-love/
