Let’s

Let’s imagine that what we do matters –

that from the spatters of the blast

of that great cosmic blunderbuss

from which we are supposed to have

derived, something has jived like jazz

in us to vindicate the vast ballooning

of our Being. Let’s say that seeing this

depends on grasping that strange

sweet ephemeral condition we call love.

Let’s say that love is an illusion we’ve

invented to reflect the whole, inspect

the soul, resourcefully effect a goal.








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