another road song

 
 
 
 
Not all mothers are loving.
Not all grandmas are kind.
Maybe DNA can’t carry hate;
deep toxins can torture small minds.
Damage so common needs careful respect.
Shared bleedings may lead to connection.
Expand brain and heart:
forge far-reaching art.  Spite
blighted start.  Embrace concentration,
consecration to a sane desire.
What would that require?
 
Can I entice a widening gyre?
Whirlwind romance,
neural ecstasy, words of heresy —
whatever fantasy corresponds with relief.
I would be honored to dwindle your grief,
devour your fear, sweep your road clear,
apply tinder to kindle our fire.
.
.
.

 

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