How Do I Know
This is the moment. The moment planets collide and explode light that rains down on the sidewalks of urban streets in happy glow beams. Cracked sidewalks that take the moment and reflect it back to the sun, rays of light meeting in an embrace, hands and wrists interlocking -- bigger things. This is the moment of sunlight and freedom. This is the moment she sings a song of delight and complexity, sweet songs of mystery falling down on mankind, humankind. This is the moment of honesty where no beer commercial will follow, no scantily clad young woman to stimulate and confuse your desire. This is a moment when your love is your love, your truth in love. This is the moment of your gut winning the day. The erudition of instinct. This is the moment of kindness. This is the moment of ART in the face of death. This is the moment. It is a moment of truth, truth and song. This is the moment we crave, a moment of Dostoyevsky happily ushering in the embrace. This is a moment of learning and safety, of honest decay. This is a moment of simplicity. This is a moment of sunshine. This is a moment of secrets and shame set free into the wild heart of a lover; this is a blazing moment of acceptance...for all things we are and all things we are not. This is a blazing moment of justice and babies. This is a moment of babies circling the wagons in song. This is a moment of hallelujah. This is surely a moment of love, big bright window panes, sunlight, love, midnight, a surreal ephemeral amphibious underwater adolescent kiss -- big hurt and hugs -- sets shock waves through fault lines. This is a moment of platitudes conquering and slashing through the soft belly flesh of (literary) criticism. This is one brilliant moment of freedom, separation, angst, rebellion and coming together again.
This is a moment of love,
Anthony
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