The Dove

June 20, 2011
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Torn paper crumbled thrown long shot into trash can I lean into the metal container so deep to reach down and grasp it in between my fingers scraps leak ink drips mindless thoughtless chatter
I ran to the doctor he told me to get some rest
I thought it was a test to see how hard I could work
so I crawled to school each day back and forth
I swayed hey let's go find some boys, make some noise to give our eyes and ears and senses something real, honest, nasty, pure. I want to cure all of your diseases whatever the greatest power pleases the body seizes opportunity to love, to fix, to mend, to love. A bandaid to cover, a white white dove in heaven bound flight, bound for hell. No one ever told the bird to stop flying to stop being free to get down to business to earn money to study and everything in between. To love. To love. To love. Is a pastime a nothing, fill-me-up, sugar rush, drugs-high, careless, ruthless, no strings attached love, that our society craves. As the royal couple takes their vows, I await freedom from this pending doom. I look to the working people in the pubs, the crowds all yearning with a cup of barley. Tears, blood, toasting, toasting to love, to glamour, to life.
What is love?

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