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
