WE: After a reading of Jacques-Alain Miller's On Love

We are the
eternal bookshelf
with limited space
choose which books to keep
which lovers to replace

We are the
unkept bed
ruffled by last night's perversions
stained by future abortions
the bed too small
to fit two
the bed too stubborn
to keep two

We are the
schizophrenic desk
a mountainous stack
a mess
of remnants of food
and scholarly time
a utopia contained in an upturned (wine)glass
racing across the edge
to drop
and be vanquished
by the hot air.

We are the
voices of tomorrow
or so we've been told today
our bodies the cement pavements
still sifting in a hod

We are the
LACK
the ephemeral bliss
that desire to know
total otherness

We are the
OTHER
we have been marginalized
the dripping beggar
living under umbrellas
only to filter through the gutter

We are the
ones that we have left
the only others that we dare to love.

But don't think for a second
I'll love the ME that I don't know
so tell me me the truth
make sure it swells of sweetness
We are the
never dying
deceivers.