Living Love
I’m tired of poetry about the lack of love,
How one man loves and someone fails to gasp
In holiness of height’s devotion of
A hoping heart and does not reach to clasp
The sacrament on offer. Incense tries
To send the signal, but it seems perfume,
Though highly heated, will not canonize
The flagellating one who would presume
The worship of the man desired. The scent
Of adoration will not win him. Moons
Will never win in lines without assent
From laughter. Dixieland requires free tunes.
Let’s do without the irises; drink chords
Where men write music more like rhyming lords.
~ Phillip Whidden
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