yesterday i was dumped again.
tossed, thrown over,
given my papers.
Love is all around us.
what the fuck are people afraid of?
i love the garbage man,
for they disappear my many
fat loads of garbage every week,
for they are not politicians,
or giant spiders.
i love the post man who brings me
products i have bought
off of the internet by pressing the buttons,
using the numbers off of my card,
representing my imaginary
i love the strongarmed officers of the Law.
their tight blue uniforms.
I love em for holding it down and shooting steroids
and thugs who creep and use
bagged drugs and not bottled.
i love very much the shuffling
homeless couples who have
and lay about in moldy corners,
in their swollen redfaced misery
glad for each other's warmth
i love my several friends
who number less than a dozen.
they have great patience and lending capacity
love is the mix
and the blender. fair enough.
but it is also
the noisy yet perfectly-maintenanced thresher of dreams, as well as
a thin slime we crawl through that
slows us down when we were hurrying like
sad but white vermin
here and there through the lab.
Love is a pungent healthy slime that cloys.
it suffocates and gloats
and can't get it out.
love is grimy but we need it so bad.
love is perfectly beautiful and it teaches us
not to be our asshole selves.
it will stop you in the park
and split you
with a grin
it will separate you from
your money and your blood
it'll make you write
bad but generally sincere poems.
the thing called love
will get us through the night
and lend a sprig of dignity to
even deaths on the public scaffold.
we can whimper about it
and people will remember
if our flesh was weak and flammable,
then our love for the flesh and soul
of another was immortal,
worth praising as divine.
you can love god, and you can love a live or dead rabbit, too
Yea love surrounds us.
some would say like a womb of
others, like a pack of desperate cannibals.
But all agree that if you dare use the Word,
if you dare use it
or with poor timing,
there will be Trouble.
someone will groan
as if they had sprouted a
weepy but benign tumor on their neck,
and will have to be troubled with its excision,
and some other may moan
like a sick child in the dark,
dug in deep
to a bed of loneliness.