the fruit of love
bleeds juice
that, when expired,
can taste an awful lot
like bitter hatred

but love does not
wilt
turn black
grow mold
show any signs of old

so we sip and swallow

tasting nectar
but feeling poison
as it adheres to internal organs
like dry ice to a tongue

frozen

burning

noxious

love.

-avc


 

the in-crowd

we never protest when technology
takes our jobs, only when it’s
the mythical foreigner

like the snake-oil salesman
who went out of vogue when smoke
and mirrors became the fashionable
manner in which to sling his
elixirs

in fact, it is more
acceptable to drink the
Kool-Aid when presented
in this manner; we no longer
need to wear white cloaks
if we want to feel like we
are a part of an exclusive
in-crowd

-Les Mots Manquants

[Photo credit: Dry Ice 07 by Pagan Stock]

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