7/Gin & Tonic

But love, Madonna, is not pure country of the heart
riverrun with dogs & wounds—
The mind hymns too its locus
of harbors & viaticum—
It is not enough, Madonna, to know the little movements
of your heart that sudden gales quickly wrack
but the savage geometry of mind which wisdom
delivers from minor blast—

The galleons of mind do flounder in meridians
thrown about the spindling arcs,
but ever shoals of faith & flame burn in the rear
guiding all survivors to the coastal luminance:
The mind, Madonna, is kin to heart.

Legions are rulers of compass, mariner guides
but the hands that gripped through the infernal crush
of water cathedrals & witchcraft,
are ever the paradox of brutal love
that shall deliver you gently from sirens’ raft.

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