the fault

but this is not the fault
of the universe,
things at least
must fall to peace: people just
increase, they must.

Love has but
a point to make: flesh and blood
to pierce and rake, heart and mind
to slice, divide.
Crust and rock
to push, slide, shock and shatter,
buildings, mountains,
matter,
energy
will shake
to peace.

This at least
we say for sure: love
has no disease,
nor cure -
but this is not the fault
of the universe: the fault in me
pressure builds it up, to point
where rupture, buckle, juncture, joint
must soon or now become a crack
actualize into explode,
catastrophe -

this is we.
and wrenched, revealed,

some motherlode