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Quick Scribbles – 002


We have all loved,

In different ways —

The same bleeding love.

We have all suffered,

In the same way —

The lethal blows of love.

We all have

Partially lived, partially died

In its glorious name.


Dropping the mask,

shedding the skin,

From our seat of rawness we must ask –

can we love each other

core to core,

Like day and night fusing at twilight?


The knife delightfully slits

an unsuspecting thumb,

In the tint of the trickle,

I see

the romance of deep red.

Even a mishap at the chopping board

can be oddly mesmerizing.


If I could find salvation

in my speaking,

blessed my word would be.

If the churning inside

could yield luscious cream

sacred my thought would be.

The poems I write

 will then become Zen stories.

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