Till death do us part (Love exists)

Love is a sonnet recited over the speakers of a slaughterhouse.

It does not smell the blood nor scrutinize the saw’s.

It does not save us, nor can it.

It distracts, temporarily.

In moments of abject terror.

A peripheral ode.

White noise in a horror show.

Played on the assembly line.

To the most vulnerable of us.

Love is a last meal on death row.

It does not pardon the prisoner nor stay the execution.

It does not save us, nor can it.

It satiates, temporarily.

In moments of systemic penance.

A familiar flavor.

Ice cream sundae in a cemetery.

Granted as a final mercy.

To the least deserving of us.

Love exists.

In tragedy.

In nightmares.

In pain and in pleasure.

In equal measure.

It’s up to the swine.

To dead men walking.

To hear it.

To taste it.

To know it.

Before it’s over.

Love exists.

To the bravest of us.

a. duncan, 2019



Jacques Gamelin, 1779.

The inscription, “Surgite mortui venite ad Judicium” translates, “Arise, dead one, and come to Judgement.”


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Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus || Love is rich with both honey and venom

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