Poem was published in Chiron Review, December 2011, if I recall. Written in 2005 or 6.
When Love Dies
When love dies it’s not like a gunshot to the head
or the heart.
It’s not like the crash of tangled tin and gleaming chrome
of a 4 wheel hack or a silver bullet fallen from the sky.
It’s not like a mortar lobbed into a foxhole or
the glint of a blade and a line of blood along a slit neck
or peeled scalp.
It’s not like a shiv stuck in your stomach to disembowel you
and let your innards fall like rotten fruit onto a stained soil.
It’s not like the whiteout and mushroom cloud of a megaton delivery
from demonic fools
or the rush and rage of flame thrown from flyers over the jungles.
No, it’s not like that.
Love dies slowly and unseen, taking its time, taking its toll,
creeping like a vine in the attic
or a nest of ants diligently working in the walls
or a fungus eating out the insides of an old tree,
and you only realize it’s gone when its already been dead for quite some time
and the glorious once-tree finally falls in the forest
and spills its dust onto the moldy leaves and musty humus below.
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That's what I used to say till all these assholes who are trying to scam me popped up. Die motherfuckers, die.