what the world needs now
is, offensively enough,
a large can of spray deoderant.
LoVe, love, lOvE
has become that woman aging to her glued eyelashes,
diluting her feelings in vinegar
while padding the rest of her.
hungry politicians (the church along) ,
have stretched and clawed
at her sacrosant spelling of definition,
giving sold out purposes
to new meanings.
defined love calculated is easy to choke on,
sticking to your voice box
and playing
chopstick Christmas lullabys
on your rib cage.
any blue purple lover
can tell you...
love can not be premeditated
like murder
(September 3,1966)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem