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3 Poems by BJ Love

The Grateful Release of Our More Robust Natures


Star Wars is on TV and all we can do is go to Dairy Queen
and dare each other into new flavor combinations, our
handholding just a gateway to Oreos and backrubs and
it all tastes really rich to me, like knowing how beavers
build their dams but wanting to hear your take on it all
anyway because I have a gnawing suspicion that today
can be totally interesting on a budget, it’s true, we can’t
go to Granada, but we can go on this walk and you look
so full of facts and I have a can full of silver spray paint
dying to be more beautiful and the world is so full of bridges
that have no ideas of love so let’s hit these purple streets
and create more famous versions of ourselves on them,
after all, this is how our histories have always been made
and love can be easily retrofitted into it, over it, and though
some people are always three steps ahead, it will be me
who gets to yell, Watch out! and pull you back into my
peeling but other wise healthy arms and tell you that
having heroes is wildly important, and feel really good
about myself and then you will thankfully kiss my silver
sprayed palms and you will see your beautiful reflection
kissing you back and you will say, boop boop, in a pretty
authentic robot voice and though translation is frequently
difficult, I will have no problems understanding exactly
what you mean, exactly what you are (not a robot), because
this language is ours and it is heartbased and sometimes
we feel, a little heart is all you need, but sometimes a little
heart is hard to draw, so I’m making mine really big, big
enough to hold our whole names and it’s a rebellion, yes
but only a minor one and if we are caught, at least they’ll
print our pictures in the paper, side by side, with a caption
that will surely say something about Love, how it leaves
its mark in the most surprising and out of the way places.


Your Name = Your Job

My heart is involved in pleasure and I’ve thrown too much
of it into  the  air  to  care  where  it  lands.  This  is  my  real  art
and I’m installing it everywhere like the ocean or the things
we  believe  swim  there.  I  am  moving  toward  a  new  blue,  a
new place to keep my pictures, the last rays of sunlight that
are  bending  like  some  kind  of  arm,  like  some  kind  of
mythology.  I  have  a  feeling  that  will  unfold  in  a  beautiful


I don’t know how it works, but I have a general sense of how
it  is  made  and  it  is  like  making  you  a  promise  with  real
working parts so that, it’s never the thing that is  broken, just
a chunk of it. I have a chest full  of  tools ready  to  fiddle with
almost  anything  and  this  is  turning  into  a  grand  and
fascinating dance of grand and turning fascinations.


Look hard at what we have here, it took years and monies to
make  sure  Einstein  was  right  about  everything  he knew  he
was  right  about,  so  what  we  are  really  after  is  relative
comfort. We take comfort. We are comforting. It’s a  strange
physics,  but  it  works.  Like  yellow  on  anything  or  that  one
time you believed in God.


This  is  the  history  of  what  we do, however mystical it may
become.  My heart is scattered everywhere  like a mess, but  it’s
this  clutter  that lets us know we are home. I am bending my
arms around you here  and finding it to be a welcoming style
of halo. A cheap fix, maybe, but with only so many holds at
our disposal, we must keep our faith in one of them, right?
Like ghosts. Like the ghosts of each other, red and wrinkled
in  our  skin.  We  can’t know  how  they  got  there,  but  on  the
nights we are alone, we’re glad to have them to hang onto.


P oint Break: A Synopsis Poem

Johnny  Utah,  you  are a  man,  with a  real  heart,  act

like  one,  says  Bohdi.  There  is  nothing  but  waves  in
the  ocean,  so  let  us  make  something  of  it.  The
differences between anxiousness and astonishment, I
fear,  are  lost  on  me,  says  Johnny.  This  is  a
relationship we  all know.  The kind  where  love is  the
only thing not hidden. The kind  where we fire  our
guns into the sky and let each other run free.

Oh, all  I  want,  says Johnny, is a  lap to lay my head in

and maybe some fingers that I can lean my eyebrows
against.  Now,  I  feel  like  I  should  warn  you,  this  is
where  the movie gets a  little  sexy.  Lovely even. Says
Bodhi to Johnny, I want to share this certain amount
of skin between us. To kiss us in all those ways we’d
never before considered kissing.  Thereby  making this
unkiss the new and most tender definition we could
hope  to  articulate.  At  least  for  today.  I  have  the
feeling,  Bodhi,  that  you  are  being  glorious,  says

Utah, get me  too,  pleads  Angelo.  Poor,  poor  Angelo,

this  is also the story of your heartbreak. The thing we
must remember, though, is that everybody dies.


The  ocean  is  no  more  than  heaven’s  reflections  of
ourselves,  says  Bodhi,  and  so,  I’m  worried  of  its’
whereabouts  lately.  Where  have  we  all gone,  Johnny
and  Bodhi  scream  together,  but  mostly  alone.  It’s
one  thing  to  not  recognize  ourselves,  but  quite
another  to  not  even know  where  to start, where to
fix our wandering gazes. How to live a life after I love

Darling,  you  say  you  have  never  seen  Point  Break,
and, I believe you, so to the best of my recollection,
this  is what that movie is  about. Do you  see anything
beautiful in this?

After all, you seem to prefer beautiful things.


BJ Love is the author the of the chapbooks, Michigander (Greying Ghost), and the recently released, Fossil (Small Fires), in collaboration with Friedrich Kerksieck. His poems can be found elsewhere, on and off the internet, but who cares about those when you have so much more Spork to read.