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Hand Grenades, or The Child in Your Eyes


by Darryl Price


 

There is a war, but it is not

In my heart. There is a war, but

You are not the reason. There is a

War, but we're all doing what we can.

 

There is a war, but it is not

Your fight. There is a war, but I

Wished you still walked among us. There's a

War, but I'm fixing to have a good

 

Time. There is a war, but it doesn't

Make sense. There is a war, but I

Didn't know that and neither did you. There

Is a war, but also a butterfly fanning

 

The fire that is your hair into a

Perfectly delicious fragrance. There is a war, but

I'll recite my empty poems to the pissed

Off trees. There is a war, but my

 

Own doppelganger pretends not to hear any of

this. There is a war, but it doesn't

have to be like this, not like this.

There is a war, but you are being

 

So awfully quiet now. There is a war,

But I recognize your eyes. There is a

War, but you should make a picture of

It. There is a war, but I'm only

 

Trying to get home, aren't you? There is

A war, but peace and love get in

The way. There is a war, but aren't

you still sleeping? There is a war, but

 

I can't stand being without you. There is

A war, but the snobs like it that

Way. But all I've got to get you

Some Heaven now is a scribbled line or

 

Two about how hard it is to be

Strong, let's face it, that sucks. There's a

War I am told, but do me a

Favor, and pay me back in kisses. There

 

Is a war, but smile at me. There

Is a war, but it has always seemed

to me that we have seen too much.

There is a war; the sky's the limit.




Bonus Poems:



Signal in the Sky


by Darryl Price



 

They interfere plenty. I don't think that

Angels care if we dance or not. We would

 

Have felt something, that's how we think we know.

They have only one station. I'm pretty

 

Sure it's classical twenty-four hours

A day. Talk about nostalgia for

 

The Good old days. At least we're still searching

For the beat in the jungle. I mean who

 

Sends a white horse as a nightmare to a

Frightened sleeper? Only someone who thinks

 

They know everything. The point is, I don't

Believe that believing anything makes

 

You better than another person. If

It makes you happy that doesn't give you

 

The right to always declare it in my

Direction like it's the only way to be

 

Authentic in this or any other

World. Blind obedience to a machine,

 

Whether it is radiant or not, is

Not my idea of a joyful love. 


I'm glad we have each other. I'm thankful

we are still playful. I'm happy to have


an ego, to still feel the great big thrill

of lust. Take your lies and stuff them. Dance on.    





     Pleasures by Darryl Price


The sun, or whatever it is,
is falling closer. I don't think
that it's going away any
time soon. But here I am a man

still seeking your face on every
leaf. Like a forest of elegant
bulbs this makes it way better;
doesn't make it blow away. I

don't believe in being forbidden
to laugh or to cry. That's my
problem. There's plenty I don't understand,
but it doesn't stop me

from feeling everything on and
on until the end. The sun, or
whatever is shining, seems to
be debating what makes a dream

and what is awakening, but
my question is for you--will you
still be love's message to us when
tomorrow is the only day

left on earth? The sunshine, or the
inevitable squinting sky,
shifts its own pleasures like a
sleeping lion sometimes, but I

and I must allow for the shadows
of our workhorse atoms to
move mountains and swing the maid back
onto her silver saddle before

listing over into another
starry despair. We've a
purpose after all in the grand
clash of the majestic kitchens.

   

 

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