The New Rule

Rumi, not Maher

It’s the old rule that drunks have to argue

and get into fights.

The lover is just as bad: He falls into a hold.

But down in that hole he finds something shining,

worth more than any amount of money or power.

Last night the moon cam dropping it’s clothes in the street.

I took it as a sign to start singing,

falling up int the bowl of the sky.

The bowl breaks. Everywhere is falling everywhere.

Nothing else to do.

 

Here’s the new rule: Break the wineglass,

and fall

toward the glassblower’s breath.

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