White Love

My lives are like those of Plutarch In other words, they are not my own Brimming with white love I bite them and watch them spoil I spend special attention On a twisted, acceptable life An empty, burning love for others Amongst the smell of kebabs I will find an end to it By lining up the animals Multiples count each other out In convenient, established forms There is no further action to be taken I'll appear in December, unconcerned At how they gather about your coat-tails Fluttering in a chalky way