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The New Lovers


by Darryl Price


An apple is a fine luxury. Remember
that. It is important. A man
was arrested and murdered for writing 
a poem about a blue Spring flower

during a foreign occupation. The
evil that men do is covered in roses. 
It's all there. In their books, their buildings, 
to the sky and beyond, their signed and sealed 

and sadly approved paper promises, 
and whatever else you might want to steal 
a glance at,to read with your heads bowed. Throw 
your tied hands up in the air. It's trending. 

New lovers is what we need to see happening in 
the real world. They are our only hope for a 
renewed sense of jump and search for something 
a bit better. More than man's inhumanity.

New lovers as research scientists. 
Intrepid explorers of the unknown.
Pranksters, masters at the art of brave 
joy, and unforgotten sorrow.  Wildflower 

field doctors of the heart and mind for 
the many sick days ahead. New lovers
engaged with old love and new love and all 
love. It's in the music of the spheres, between 

your ears and all ears everywhere. New
lovers-- as the opposite of shaking 
with fear. A ray of light. As when the bell 
rings. As forgiveness for the deceitful.

But, most of all, new lovers hailing angels
beholding the sun blossoming and
blessing the Earth for another day. Eat 
your apple. Breathe. Enjoy your blue flowers.



Bonus poem:





 
Sidewalk Closed

by Darryl Price


I call bullshit. The last letter of 
the alphabet is Z. You are not 
my friends. The people you used to be 
used to be. Don't follow me. I have 
led you back to safety in your dreams. 
Now leave me alone. That's what they want 

me to say to you, but it's just not 
my true feelings. You are so my friends. 
Now and always. They put up signs, barriers, 
to persuade you to not be 
friends anymore with those who mistreat 
your tender image of yourself; but 

it kind of brings up the war of definitions 
and your own particular 
part in it. They don't know me. Obviously. 
I would never throw you 
into an open abyss of never 
communicating with you again 

in this lifetime. That seems needlessly 
cruel to me. That seems like shooting someone 
asleep who can't fight back just because 
you can. That seems like destroying any 
hope for kindness in favor of 
manic ego and selfish delight 

in the suffering of others. I 
won't be part of it, even in the 
cause of refusing toxic relationships.  
I mean it's either love or
the hate they so like to worship. I
choose love. And I'm not here to tell you

what to do with your own choice. Freedom 
means free to love, to think and to be.
You are my friends. I will honor you 
as such because I want to, not because
it's written, but because I'm me.
That's about all there is left to say.
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