A Most-Complicated Machine Poem by Butch Decatoria

What should the heart feel
When love departs?
A sinking, achingly, breaking
Waves of
Lonelinesses: the Hungers of our souls;
Openness, vunerability, blinded
By sickness of obsessions
Adolescent crushes
Each to their own
Detrimental emotions
How do we tame
Or breathe its oceans
How should the heart sleep
When we deny it
The filigree of
Feelings

From imperfect
Worshipping machines
Blind moving flesh
Sooner laid to rest
Non-transcendents
Unloved.

Body and soul,
Life is the dress.
To Love is trust.
True heart is gold.

(Still, How should it feel?)