Epigrammatical Terror

You only get lost in thought

when Thought’s not marked on your charts.

You should flex your mind; you ought

to get metaphysical

if all of you beaux want (he)art(s)

like mine. It’s reciprocal.

Napoleonic and what?

Complex. I’m Haughty Bogart,

proud and gettin’ flesh abroad.

Grand, but not mal-teasin’, I’ll

seize and blow you, then depart—

or, not; if you can enthrall.

Rarely caught but often sought,

gettin’ my Sartre on, Art’s

me makin’ do with all that’s

been done to me by you all.

Catharsis, courage, and scars—

can you love me when I fall?