Well it won’t write itself
and that’s the problem.
I can’t write it, it won’t
be written, and that
most ubiquitous of subjects
remains missing from my armory.
What to do when you
haven’t a clue how to
write a love poem?
They come on their own,
the poems, in their own
time and manner.
I must go about my
business and wait,
not trying.
So where are the love poems?
Is there is no love in my soul?
How can a writer function
without love?
How can a human being exist
without love?
Maybe love is like physics.
I don’t understand the science
but I can grasp the concepts.
Yes, love is like physics;
understandable conceptually
but only explainable at the
subatomic level. A quantum
world where reality blinks
in and out of existence in a
fog of fuzzy logic and chaos.
So perhaps their are only a
few virtuosi who can understand
the physics of love, or maybe
only two, you know,
Hawking and Shakespeare.
I think I’ll write an ode
to the Uncertainty Principle.