Dear,

dear.


I have a capacity for great want.

I have been in love on the central reservation for around sixty years.
My love swirls between posts of advertising hoardings and motorway service stations
and is forever rising in warped hot hair in a summer's day in 1987 and 1967 and many, many
other dates.

Dear.

I am the poem.
I am that song that interrupts you.
I am your great, lustful, headiest love.

I am also your great fury.

I am acid rain.
I am spite and malice, on fire,
in flame,
enraged.

I am a Beserker
in your morning kitchen.
I am a blasphemer in your Madrid mass.
I am a Roman buried in Beirut.
I am a chain rusting in Freetown.
I am blow, in the Bogota wind.
I am everything,
and I want everything,
and I will destroy everything.

I am love.

Sincerely,

sincerely.