The purpose of the blinking phone

is to make you feel alive in a world that’s been dead for years.

And not some metaphorical bullshit,

like literally a dead world.

A dying world, more like it.

A world that repeats itself over and over again with the patterns of

fear, gluttony, pride, and then decay of decadence.

In the dying world that pushes for money

to pretend that it has some sort of pulse,

mistaking some screams on Wall Street for life

and mistaking a true love for a naive dream, like the United Nations.

So what is more forgiving? Love or lust?

The eternal question.

Kiss me to remember the answer,

and then don’t tell me. Just write it out. Just breathe it in.

Sonnets were of the past but so was idolatry of false gods,

so which would you prefer?

I won’t tell the salesmen if you won’t tell Shakespeare.

Your answer lies in the flashing glow on my phone –

not quite like the Red Light District –

more like the the beating red light outside the pub where we met,

pulsing a rhythm that America forgot and left by the Mississippi River.


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