Love’s not much
to worry about: you either
have it or don’t, are loved or
are not.  Simple

and devastating.
You can’t worry about such things
to the point of no return; instead,
worry till just before that point.

Say there’s a pair of brown eyes
that wreck you often.
Why worry
about wrecking — you will

or will not crash,
they’ll turn your way
or stay fixed
elsewhere,

and there’s nothing you can do
except think about them until
just before you see
the bridge abutment looming.

Love’s neither voluntary
nor subject to reason, so
to sit with your head in your hands,
utterly controlled by love, is foolish.

Just rest your head
directly on your desk
and save your arms from fatigue.
Rest it there repeatedly, in fact,

several times a minute.
It will hurt less than worrying
about love.  You’ll see — eventually
you’ll pass out and love

will fall into its proper perspective
of blackout and pain
and the dazed look on your face
upon revival, at which point

you may still be worried about love
but no one will be the wiser —
and maybe, just maybe,
you’ll have amnesia.