Broken.

Love died at fifty

it didn’t drain

like a small hole in a cup

it was discovered missing

and,

upon the filing through

the resentment catalog of twenty years

there was a startling:

it was never there.

The love was for

the love of love,

the idea of love,

the wedding of love

the marriage of love

the parents of love

but the human:

so broken,

so unlikable,

“an asshole,”

was not known

and therefore,

never loved.

Halloween 2010

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