Love.
What is it?
What does it do?
Where does it come from?
Why do we need it so badly?
Do we need it?

There is only one question, really. And that is: Who knows how to make it stay?

Like an outlaw moon, eventually captured by the mass and magnetism of that which it orbits, Love is drawn to the place where it belongs.

Regardless

The nights you fight best
are
when all the weapons are
pointed at you,
when all the voices
hurl their insults
while the dream is being
strangled.

The nights you fight best
are
when reason gets
kicked in the
gut,
when the chariots of
gloom
encircle
you.

The nights you fight best
are
when the laughter
of fools
fills
the air,
when the kiss of death is
mistaken for
love.

The nights you fight best
are
when the game is fixed,
when the crowd
screams
for your
blood.

The nights you fight best
are
on a night like
this
as you chase
a thousand dark rats
from your brain,
as you rise up
against the
impossible,
as you become a brother
to the tender sister
of joy and

move on

regardless.

-- Charles Bukowski