Love Poem
It’s all God
It’s all the poets
It’s Bukowski in tears
It’s the pain of some Picasso
It might be Mary Jane
in the comforting arms of the night
It’s something like the Coliseum
It’s the stranger
who kept a promise
It’s four kids in a hole in the wall
on the east side of town,
yelling their dirty little hearts out
It’s just a dollar for a CD
It’s John Fante, or Hemingway,
or maybe even Nietzsche
It’s six strings or a pen
or two measly colors
It’s your heart on an island
It’s in a box
It’s in a prison
It’s religion without religion
It’s the unveiling of a soul
It’s right around the corner
It’s just beneath your fingertips
It’s beyond the machine
It’s found by some;
lost by many
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