Tough, Dumb, Moronic LOVE
began as seemed to
have lost itself along
(some way, any way)
on any-given-day they've
been heard to say.
The convenience was rarely
to show face.
It just wouldn't ex'pose face where
it's kept in it's place.
Love, love, lovelove, what is the
matter with you?
How did you stay so far from this
always silent room?
What could have been done to you?
I could never stand the high school cheers.
Never was photo'd for The Book '70.
No one cares that i was ever there. But
there i was through an unproven
dalliance with invisibility with
(But you! You! G'odd, how i wish you were here with me, at my
And that was half-a-hundred years ago
that was half-a-hundred years ago
A century down the middle divide.
(How can I speak of "centuries", even
Even as moments? Moments that squeak by,
Then become old as stone as it's fifty years beyond
where we thought it was.
Here we go. Rushing to the end. Even my child
got there before me, (and has left these final years
"of mine" awash in a world of pain,
and tears, and truly pathetic wailing.)
There is no winner, regardless of what the TVsport morons
scream. Everything gets gradually lost (lessened),
every time the striped man blows his fucking whistle.
And the crowd goes Wild. Hogwild beyond it's own civility.
~ ~ ~
Love....Love.....Love & Love. I truly forgot what it might have been I was
about .(it's that time).......(g'night, dear love.