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When You Find It
Life is dumpster diving:
trying to find the good stuff...
trying to avoid sinking.
Sometimes it's slim pickings.
A sea of seamless, seemingly endless obstacles...
of séances and sendoffs.
We tread lightly, lest we lose our footing.
Love is the sought after, the useful, the satisfying:
the heavy bits stuck in place that help prevent sinking.
Love is the unexpired box of pasta on top:
the jackpot,
already wonderful but
exalted by circumstance and
appreciated fully in light of
the darkness.
If that doesn't sound pretty, it shouldn't.
The smell is always there.
Love is a clothespin for your nose.
Life is dumpster diving and
love is a weird poem written on the back of a coffee-stained city map.
It doesn't have to make sense;
you'll know what you're looking for when you find it.
Brilliant from beginning to
Brilliant from beginning to end. You really nailed it and brought it home and it's so good it hurts.
"It is a terrible thing to be so open. It is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world" -- Sylvia Plath.