After Fire, Flood, And Love

Originally posted 3/10/2012.

fire there’s ash. Warmth
underneath, pale wisp-paper
above, easily dispersed, easily blown around.

flood comes muck.  Damp
goes all the way through.
Deep and sucking, holds fast.

love — what?   
What should we call that hot bog
that draws us down and won’t let us go?

love — let’s not call it.
Let’s not even name it.  Let’s say:
first fire and flood, then ash and mud;

then, after love, nothing.
Nothing comes after love.


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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