To care deeply about trivialities,
To declare beauty, in any form,
And however fleeting,
Not just important,
But paramount,
Is to love.
What can be essential,
Before we see it as such?
And how can we see,
Before we choose,
Our passions?
And these choices,
That define who we are,
Are the essence of meaning.
My passions range wide,
But always return,
To my love of genius,
To the flawless curves of a GS Vespa,
the timeless art of D'Ascanio.
To the keen insight of Bakunin,
"I cleave to no system, I am a true seeker."
To the lyricism of Whitman,
"I am mad for it to be in contact with me."
To Shane MacGowan, Utah Phillips, Billy Bragg,
And every song that matters.
To the "Daddy, look what I've found!"
To the connubial snuggle,
And the wonder of its design.
And my love,
Is at least as substantial,
As my politics.
Nay, more so,
For love is not changed so easily,
And therein lies the beauty.
