[Union of Tragic-Comedy] a poem

-before we fall into what
always ends an amour fou,
first, you must accept that this life
revolves around constantly a balance,
the tragedy and the comedy;
for you, this entanglement soon to
invite the two of us deep into the
center of each other,
will prove more tragic for you,
still, less comic for my
dis-benefit .This great war that rages,
feeding both sadists living
well between the crevice dis-spirit,
will do either of us any good;
what else then to do than ride
out this storm, unnerving us
like Saplings roots tearing against
their desperate, fate-knowing
woes. 

At what point did man decide that
one skin color outweighs the next?
Why precisely is it that a woman with
a barren womb, a man without
endurable seeds always seem
to shoulder great sadnesses within them?
We may desire the same desire beneath this
identical flesh of texture, opposed of
shade, never escape the heavy drench of
the fertilization which lost its very
spindle to become all what has
never been found, or have never been,
in us-


-draw on this tragic smile to poorly conceal
this father never-to-be, then retract,
fold back onto yourself,
we hear-tell by so many before us,
who've ventured this stretch of
not a single respite away from
swelter,
it is a patch,
that only lengthens if
we refuse our union,
then said, become the third
fate, who cuts what is first spun,
then after measured-



Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Just a Body]