The path to love is paved with gray seashells
that prick the pilgrim’s feet as he wanders
with thoughts of sequined gowns and wedding bells;
behind him thugs stalk him as he ponders:
He has no sense his road and time will end –
the sharp paved road stretched out so endlessly;
his bride gets to the altar at a bend;
the flowers match her eyes so perfectly:
They stick him up with modern weaponry;
against his dreamy smile there’s no contest;
he vows to keep a strict fidelity,
and hollow-pointed bullets pierce his breast:
The ripe sunset makes sense of red and blue;
his view is dimmed before she says ‘I do.’

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