A love which ends badly-
if we let it-
freezes Time;

and we move on
covering it;

leaving it unchanged and unresolved.

We plant the last Kiss
with a question mark
knotted in the Semi-finish..

We drag our Dead Poet Love
into the future
bound and gagged
in the truck of the car
because all past loves
are Dead Poets;

we ignore the muffled cries
in the trunk rear;

drive toward the future
tamping down the present
with a finger
dipped in
jaded memories.

We smother old past poet-loves
put them away in the dark closet
because New Love
most often
doesn't  share our love of
Former Poetries.

We reel in the Future now
before it is born;
strangled;

we make Hope for New Love
to lie
down in the cold;

but, our warm coat
is in the closet
which means
at odd times
in the chill
we dream of dead poet question marks;

who sometimes
don't remain
dead still
in the trunk of the car
in the closet
in the category
nil.