The gods have no choice
but to let us live a little—

they would die for comedy.
You and I today, we’re like bad actors

in a black and white Fellini movie.
If you can’t show red, why bother filming?

The scene where the boys undress
and color the river with sex

is useless, like bloodletting.
And the pistons of the heart, the heart—

aren’t pumping fast enough
to let us feel this thrashing.

Original appearance in the Yale Review.