when we fall in love
we are shot from a cannon
the concussion ripping the air
from our lungs
and the acceleration blinding
our wary eyes


we fly in a brief arc
across time and space
with the sensations
and the machinations
of pain and joy
combined in a less than real
slow agony and ecstasy


until we hit the wall of fate
splattering
and the old man comes along
with a squeegee
and cleans off the mess
and the remains
are washed away down the gutters
of oblivion.
                            boise 20 may 2004

 

 


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