A man risked his life to write the words.
A man hung upside down (an idiot friend
holding his legs?) with spray paint
to write the words on a girder fifty feet above
a highway. And his beloved,
the next morning driving to work…?
His words are not (meant to be) so unique.
Does she recognize his handwriting?
Did he hint to her at her doorstep the night before
of “something special, darling, tomorrow”?
And did he call her at work
expecting her to faint with delight
at his celebration of her, his passion, his risk?
She will know I love her now,
the world will know my love for her!
A man risked his life to write the world.
Love is like this at the bone, we hope, love
is like this, Sweatheart, all sore and dumb
and dangerous, ignited, blessed–always,
regardless, no exceptions,
always in blazing matters like these: blessed.
I used to see this all the time driving from Lexington KY to Georgetown KY on I-75N. Glad i’m not the only one who found this hilarious.
i am trying to get a hold of mr. lux . this poem is simply progressive w. a concentrated ‘punch’ . once again nothing short of him as an admired mentor . would love to ‘throw a pot or two’ on a few lines that lack better judgment when my imagination is out of focus . once beholden to writing broken down wood to now technically refined papers- declare that the pencil like the common sponge unable to adapt, is becoming extinct…
rebecca fairbanks