Tattoos in Mayberry

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Hate, resentment and contempt can motivate, corrupt and destroy.
I've heard love bantered around like they know what it means.
So much like some novice shop girl peddling strong perfume...
Love may be a construct, or a bad chemistry experiment.
Examining love under a microscope,
Could  we be  a witness to the laws of nature,
The gravity of lust.
We could examine what is beautiful
in the entire animal kingdom..
What is the attraction of human architecture..
Some human architecture
admittedly is captivating, and inspriring.
We flock to be near their essense, 
hoping to snatch a mere speck of their sparkle.
Like a match to a flame.
Beauty can burn
Falling in love can incinerate..
So what of those few who are so stunning,
as to make us involuntarily quiver.
To bring us to take actions
we wouldn't otherwise undertake.
Bending us with chemistry
to commit irrational acts?
I've wondered 
Do the deligtfully stunning
have answers to their own love questions?
Do they hold the biological combination to ours?
It seems to serve them to horde or squander their love.
Will we feed us a fresh, cooked meal
or will they bring home to us
gorgeous left-overs in a to-go-box,
to nibble on fruity flesh,
torn away from the seed?
,Put more junk in my love syringe.
Dope me up with: a pit stop of
Back-seat, blue-ribbon back seat, love.
We obsess on love.,
A co-dependant , long-distance ,
bloody, on the run,
unholy love.
Honorable-mention, conjugal,love
Love marooned on the jagged rocks..
What's the percentages in the game of love.
Love can begin in a sunny meadow,
sweet as candy,,
and well wishes,and much promise 
Beginning in a church with solemn vow

Then to somehow end up
in the dim sunset of a courtroom.
I'm no player hater, with little need to rubber-stamp
what excites me or another,
, what you may find beautiful, worth
fighting for.
Love  could be a
gorgeous flower
too soon cut off the vine..
How could love be real when
there' much war
So much desire
yet so much death.
are love and death  two
sides of the same coin

Are we satellites in the vast universe of space
on a mission to feed our inner hate monger?
Lost in a vortex of love/hate.
I have felt the stir of love.

Everyone said it was my endless summer.
during the apex of my youth.
What wasn't examined so closely was...
I was born in the coldest week in winter
in a very high lattitude. A tilted, bad machine,
into a Western game
with a Western name
with an Eastern mind and religion
A spy, an outcast 
here, in a foreign land
obsessed with their rules of law, .
Forcing us to love like sheep in the dark.
I suspect there is no such thing as true love.
..A mere invention of Madison Avenue.
A ring toss
on a Nixon loop
sweating for a cupie doll
 at some county fair 

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Summer`s End.