It Must Be Done Lovingly -
this  title comes easy,
leaps from screen,
jumps in between
my eyes,
where poems electric start,
starting line tween the
head and heart circuitry,
followed by a
thundering silence
of say what...

the notion, face smacks
a five fingered lighting bolt,
feeling the meaning, the ******,
but the body, the text, not,
the explication, the purpose singular,
not so much

it's gonna make me work,
this entitled commandment
"it must be done lovingly,"
sure, words from heaven sent,
what does it mean precisely
it doesn't come with liner notes,
just empty sleeves,
no compact disc,
to explain it well
to your ill-written soul

brain pulsating images, lyrics, tunes,
mr. memories working overtime,
but no catalogue,
thematically a disaster,
blue lined paper
crawling with scrawlings,
notes from a blues guitar,
jumbled bojangling riffs discordant

whipped,
boy's locker room,
towel whipped
gonna give up,
exactly what
is the it
that must be done so,
with loving attention

crap cutting, beat the bush,
you know what's driving,
snap, crackle and pop,
it is arriving
with mega doses of
insatiable pain

you don't love her anymore

you knowing,
that she needs
the knowing,
deserves the certitude
of the bad news,
but cowardly lion
don't got
no idea
how to tell her

so the words
on the page
resonate,
with badass emotional clarity,
a guiding light,
do it lovingly

makes no perfect sense,
but it's sensible
and almost perfect

mr. memories speaks up
at last,
in a sad voice,
the old times flash,
drawing for you pictures,
lending strength,
and whatever else you gonna need,
from history and
tell her her lovingly,
you don't love her anymore

surrender your flag,
hand over your weapons,
you were good at loving her,
some long time ago,
but
No

don't say it with stale raisin bread reasons,
soiled explanations,
just hold her in a way,
the way you used to
that has grown dusty rusty
from lack of use

that will  explain everything,
better,
by doing it
lovingly