Damon Pham
Summer 2025 | Poetry
Passion
exists whereas love is illusive, really, I will show you now
So-called wise folks declaim passion improves into love rightly
A means to the greatest end, a start to tend to and develop upon
Overstayed on, it blinds chars and betrays it is indiscretion whereas
Love welds hearts to minds, compounds in our lives the meanings
Allegedly
Well I’ve read a lot of Derrida and lately got a swift idea
Of love as passion’s haunting, a spectre daft-maintained
Seems like “love” names the assurances of past contact
Phenomena, and the hazy promises of their recurrences
Only
E.g.
Don’t you see how a “flame” is just sparks sustained?
Don’t you know how “heat” is just a bunch of back and forth?
Evidently then love is virtual figment we know not by touch, with passion
Its referent live instant action. Is it now clear we never make love, for love
Evades always the meat of physical present moment, is instead projection,
An uninhabited, non-living, puppeted project of passion?
Baby I’ll avoid laying out further repercussions
For you and of course I’m sad you find this so
Troublingly true. Meaning, it concerns me too.
Damon makes art in language and audio. He grew up in California suburbs and most recently lived in Hồ Chí Minh City—Delta Yokuts and Ohlone land, and Chăm land, also, respectively. He is a Literary Arts MFA candidate at Brown. Find him at damondpham.github.io.