[This was originally published in F.U.C.K. poetry Issue #21. The publish date is approximate.]
Often one hundred words to express
a single thought or desire. The beauty
of unmoderated speak. To directionless
travel and eternal unforgiven. All to
say such a simple thing.
The things we do. The lies we vomit.
Actions as foreign as heaven itself.
All come natual by some miracle.
For what? The one thing that seldom
exposes itself in meaningful form.
A curse or blessing among the chaos
of heart. The primary slice of
ruling passion.
Love can certainly condemn.