Word Fail
Words fail but we soldier
on, ordering
waves of adjectives to the
front
to dash themselves against
high walls
impervious to metaphor,
our
not so secret weapon, the
fuel
that burns in the cylinders
of
a million three minute pop
songs
eight days a week, the scores
of
golden spikes we swear to drive
to
lay track enough to keep
the train
running, the steps we pledge
to walk
across the length of the
ocean
or hand over hand to the
peak
of the highest mountain
fail
miserably, yet we press on
certain we have only to
arrange the words anew,
just so,
too clever by half to find
the
answer to the age old
question, what
in the world is love,
exactly?
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