2010
04.12
04.12
I don’t love you,
(because) love is a dead word.
It has been beaten, trivialized, degraded, and dragged through mud.
Love is a poet’s whore.
And her patrons come one after the other, streaming through the brothel
doors.
They offer supplication,
But love will not give them the meaning they desire,
She has been used up.
Too many times crumpled and discarded, like a paper cup.
Great poem. “too many times crumpled and discarded,” is very nice.
Well said … thank you for sharing! Much ‘love’ (this kind doesn’t get crumpled and thrown away) and congratulations!
#poetry – New piece posted!: Love http://amphibi.us/all/love/