(“I can crush it, but that doesn’t deny its existence.” — n.j.t., 1966)    

Marriages are made in Hell,
she said, lighting the cup,
and divorces in Heaven,
dropping hairs of hers
on the burning cup with
a man drawn on it.  

The cup a burnt shell,
the hair slightly singed.
That has deep significance,
she said, blowing the burnt match to the air.
Everything comes to an end
when there’s nothing for the fire to feed on.