Innovation

There are no new poems in Love's anthology
And magic rabbit words can't be pulled from top hats.
Quickened by the passion of predator for prey;
Pulses beat in time, attuned to biology.
All romantic soundtracks sound merely ersatz.
In contrast to fang and claw, love songs can't convey
The melody of mayhem; just mythology
And cold statistics, based on eight-out-of-ten cats.
Red blood on green savannah merges into grey,
Where life and death form obvious tautology.
Celebrities leave the jungle, famous as rats
Trapped in sleeping bags, for the measure of a day.
With a show of hands, like prestidigitation,
They act to conceal a lack of innovation.