Friday, September 7, 2018

The Massacre of All Innocence

Melissa Studdard is right.
Life is “a windshield dirty
With love.” Love is every bug

Slapped splat against unforeseen,
And therefore unexpected

Glass. Love, life, longing.
There’s nothing else breeds
The awareness, finally,
Of the ends of love.

Drive through Idaho
In summer and recollect
That what your shield collected
Never had a choice of rest.

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