when stuff doesn’t stuff it’s something for sure
and maybe all life can offer
is to get by after all:
maybe greatness was never our thing
and maybe it shouldn’t ring out
and maybe from the first day we should give in
because in the end being hurt
is what life’s about
and the rerouting of a social re-engineering
is a quimera of meaning’s total absence
because why should anyone want to be purposeful:
why should anyone have any right
to expect a better shirt
than the one a man loses
when he lies in the gutter and fails to see the stars
as things of beauty
but rather sees them blinking furiously
like rabbits in the presence of horrifying headlight
whilst these encroaching tears fall
no longer tall and proud
from person with straight back
and some kind of ability to tack brave sails
which navigate something of use
and then neither burgeoning out loud
those emotions fine
that truly redeem
in an instant of grandiose compassion
absolutely every ill
that precedes still
and now even so
all these humiliations
this INhumanity dares to impose on itself
yes it’s true:
love is all you need
but it needs equally to exist not attacked
by petri dish of incessant and illogical
bacteriological warfare
where every kiss imagined
only serves to sustain the unreal
and in an existence
where true love is mainly non-existent
every kiss imagined is mainly unreal:
each becoming something
just about wholly falsified
and hardly enjoyed
and usually reprimanding
and generally rejecting
of the other person
who strives even then
to pen a love note
or speak a kind word
or have their truth somehow heard
for in its requesting and ultimate denial
the kiss is lost to the ether
and either it never had a right to exist
or it never had a right to be thought up
in the first place
where one idiot considered a space existed
whilst a savvier soul knew it didn’t
because mainly that’s what it’s all about:
love’s natural state should be one
where kindness is communicated
and passion only rides
when permission becomes a deep embrace
as a taste of freedom
is enjoyed by the parties concerned
as if with no concerns
and if mostly love
is a matter of unrequited fates
and this is its natural state
still we should not believe such a situation
or this sort of location
damns us inevitably to an experience
of poverty-stricken absences
because it’s also quite true
that the real absence of love in our lives
truly makes us value our memories more
than otherwise
we might have been able to
and so it’s clear
that whether love is real
or love is a mirage of painful fool
when the old adages tell us
it’s the only thing worth fighting for
in the life of any human being
they are absolutely right:
because if we can survive and stay alive
in the utter incompleteness
of a messy and unsustainable trajectory without love
just imagine what its presence might move
were this thing we call stuff
not stuffing us at all
mil's page 