Tame as Brother Love Is Powerful

World peace, supposed an oxymoron, blithely slips out of the voice boxes of children treated to a platter of young tangelos. I told my protégé that I was younger than the work.




We practice failure to harmonize, endorse each other for mutual wit. To wit, the priest, his ribaldry, the diamond chokers, worn while watching football with an honest man. They read their lines.




The confessional once bloated is still full of breath. I take my temperature and call it in to doctors from another land. She taught me all I know I lost. Each morning I endure a row of after-dinner mints while I read Horace, Heraclitis, the young Proust. Let us be thankful for our neighborly afflictions. Let us crispen pathways to the premised lab. Let us revoke irrevocable trysts.




Your Latin roots are lagging left, plans to promenade had been concealed before I canceled thought. Tonight I see the child, long years into reflection, telling me my bicycle runs sweetly as a butterfly planes over Halifax. These empty clothes constrain me. I contain myself.




Virtue is the place between us chaperoned by genuflection and pure fate. I resurrect what legacy we piece together. And we vault over the obstacles due left of any home town scoped for stretch goals not yet stretched.

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