Copyright © 2009 Ernest Bloom (20090507).
those seriously stern, misguided muthas
mix up muttered tradition for
truer-seeing eyes: old wives'
scales; but truth --
truth falls on you like a chance
belgrade mortar shell; nor science,
nor reason, nor the pink
affirmation of the living. truth. see,
who is the speaker of truth? fallen
cards litter these streets and bloated
bodies float like lotus pinwheels around
the drowned boulevards, and life is not
for truth, and not for lies, but only for love,
and no more.
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