a hole in the night by David McLean
they made a hole in the night
punctured by the loveless structure
erected in the heart of the city,
in the center of absence
where death walks, dressing itself
well in selves in this heaven, bodies
full of flesh and abjection,
bowing down to worship nothing,
they made a hole with the slim tip
of their loveless ideological
structure, where some love
slips in, some vestige of living
they can kill us, but not make love
never have existed
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