A cure for hate . Is ascension, contaminate the sickness with the light of archons and angels gleaming from the inside of our throats. Twisting our lies, into the flies spewing forth with rainbow lice burrowing deep into the black ice. . Is a moment of disbelief, stricken on our faces, as the immutable stone turns to ivory mirrors, we see the conditions collapsing around us decay, and the brutal decisions to coerce doves into vultures. . Is realization, collecting in our dustpans, sweeping up the cooking oil splashed on the floor, left over from a bubble bursting like a pinata, blinking and open mouths swallow entire rabbits. . Is a well spring, yearning forth from the divide, the connection that fills with butterflies fluttering ignoring the swarms only to rise above the mess, and weaving a tapestry of shining threads in the sky. . A cure for hate is only to turn around and look gaze and see the ruin of crushed flowers, putrescant smell, and have the unnatural urge by the grace of greater beings, to turn away. . by lw end -<>