22ndJune 2023

I feel like I am full of love for so many things,
I think maybe many, probably most of us are,
life doesn’t lend itself to love however,
not without being hurt, or conversely doing the hurting,
it is an imperfect thing of sadness, and of frustration,
back and forth,
bound and gagged,
cut loose and set free, and out of control,
spinning, whirling,
the taste of blood and disappointment on lips,
mixed at times with the rushy speed of success,
or misguided feelings of be being master of it all,
without understanding.…

What is it even for,
the question lying silently at the bottom of a barrel,
in oily darkness,
covered up again as soon as its form begins to be exposed.


Plain No.6,
Street Vendors,
Hanoi, Vietnam.

Over and Over, Again and Again Poetry (mine) I Dont Know Whats Real Anymore copyright information Copyright Sunda 2023