The gentleman’s theory of mind

His love life is gruesome at best,
he says. He avoided the clinic,
the literature of madhouses—
priests in fresh garb and higher
insight into the species,
predatory it—he roasts
fat hogside on the weekends
as his offspring scatter about—
we welcome this new man
born in the last three centuries,
clothe him and clean him—
he says his love life is gruesome
and love is a fiction
from the plague times anyway—
we took reason as a standard
and sold ourselves to people
hardly human but thus evolved.
Which is the better man:
the raving street preacher
condemning his wife in public,
her pale face hardly fed
and his cloaked in black curls—
or the community man
whose hive swings around
sociopaths untheorized?


~ by Jeremy on June 15, 2013.

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