I will love you mercilessly and will beat
my frantic wings against the pane
until something breaks inside. I will flame
like a solar fire filled with fugal heat,
and then press, press — a wild insurgency
of barbarians crazed by inner joy —
no matter if I create or destroy,
pushed on by existential urgency.
For whether driven by Donne’s tripart God,
Poe’s Bells, or the stark Stravinsky’s Firebird,
you move me until I am absurd
with desire — like some burned out lightning rod —
a bird of paradise in a living hell
salivating metaphors at the knell.
- John Kendall Hawkins