A colleague told me how
“All poems are hate poems.”
And I battered this wondered
Clobbered up like mudpies flopping,
Topped, and tossing between
Palms. Qualms pulled apart,
Stretched, stringy like
Taffy, sticking tongue to teeth, why
We can barely spreak when
We touch upon love.

There is Love – and there is Hate – two sides of the same blade
That steams your blood –
Smoke signals to
Your loved ones that you – in one way or another –
Are still orange-warm.

In this forgiving House of Blue Light – singing of malefic effigies:
Christ Light. Water light.
Trickled dirt along the corridors, wood-swollen, too.

Grab the safety handles of Hate – embrace them, know them, love them.
Hate is the pause between heartbeats that exhales the light in your veins.