Letter to Juliet, from Satan in Amsterdam

only a poem
in poetry
reads
as
the letter i'm hoping to crossbreed
our centuries

never a literal
tale
for the coping
to soak
in
one poor
dead man's ale
as on halloween


better
to turn
away
kisses
a letter


in russian
is dripping
from amsterdam
depression
or some kind of
other place
one or another
i'm
oh so much better than party cream butter
a poem
to only
or only to you
to obscure
in our muttering
frequencies
what we do
madder
than sin
as The Devil
you greeted me


letters
to burn
i'm injected
with fevering
onto the comfort
of slot machine
solitude's
anchoring


couldn't it be
we were
destined
to be
had we
been
such
as we --


free
to leave
for the ocean --
ungentlemanly
when these four out of five-point-five


devils
agree
never
would
you have
need
to wait
but for any
other than
such a lady
as fair
and elusive, yet
Juliet

so shall we
pray
on dark reasons
and ways
to three
taxicabs leaving me cold
and a sultry laugh
i say
the safest bet
i ever done had
for all
my luck
in love
is the cards
that i couldn't
grab
better
than luck
or love
feeling
irregularly
stuck
in the pleasures
of all
what we
haven't seen
beautiful
nights
as if
such
luck required


a fight
though
i may
losing
you
wrongly
or gladly

bite down
on
my
fate
weeks of waiting
have
all
that
they
for

and on with what's
trusted
though not necessarily
trustworthy
true

to
what's mine
if not mine alone --
the celebratory!