Daughter of Morning

Marriage
the lonely institution
the solitary union
I married my mind one time
because she was a forlorn whore
I don’t put my faith in condoms or statistics

Have you ever bet the farm on Romance?
when the next morning you don’t remember
the night before. That’s why we have lawyers.

there was no pre-nup
when my mother was a bitch
and pushed me into this world, but that wasn’t the sad part
she also told me about Romance, the fond illusion

it was an odd logic of makeup and stagecraft
more wretched than the law
an experiment in planned abandon
the twelfth century longs for my knightly tones
yeah, I tell myself that
It’s all a part of Romance
Like a skinny kid with sand in his face
loves Atlas in the back of a magazine
Romantic love is a post office trick

I don’t know whether to blame
my mother
or Eleanor of Aquitaine
they both lived in story books

Marriage should be based on these things:
snoring
body odor
breath
appetite
sleep
yo-yo moods
forgetfullness
suspicion
release
forgiveness
acceptance

I married the daughter of morning
and then there was the rest of the day.