Howard Firkin
Love, it’s a lost art. No one knows the craft.
The secrets of the guild are gone for good.
We know there was a time when people could
believe it possible, when no one laughed,
but now? Impossible to contemplate.
We only trust machines to laser cut
computer generated patterns out
to fashion things we’ve only heard about
in spam from barelylegalasianslut.
You wanted love? Too bad. You’ve come too late.

We live too long now. Have a look at me:
my DNA’s a billion years today.
It still remembers jumping from the tree
and leaving love to walk upright away.