Spy in the House of Love by Alan Catlin

“I know the words you long to hear
I know your deepest, secret fear.”
Jim Morrison

The only poems in her life were
the kind that could be traced on
her skin by lovers. The more bedmates
the better: tall ones, dark ones, insane
ones, who create their own houses
of words like Black Spring, crazed riffs
he whispered in her ears as a jazzed up
tone poem, unedited, until it reached
so deep inside her she could only find it
in dreams. Dreams so dark she acted out
on sheets made into a crazy quilt of fabrics
each representing a different, forbidden act:
sleeping with an analyst in transference,
the lost father reclaimed, a bisexual gypsy
guitarist, anyone but the husband who
provided financial support, a man whose
only means of satisfaction was looking
through a peephole into an antechamber,
into a house of seven veils, where his wife
writhed inside, several acts into a psycho
drama that last for years.  Three lovers at
one time is never enough.

Alan Catlin
Alan Catlin is the poetry editor of misfitmagazine.net. His latest books of poetry are American Odyssey from Future Cycle and Last Man Standing from Lummox Press

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