What Can I Say?

It comes from my heart
or another, kinder place–
Words of care and love.
I tell you my truth so
you can find yours.
I tell you so that
judgment remains yours,
controlled the way
it will always need to be
for someone in your shoes
I tell you because I love
(and cherish) you. That’s right.
I do.
And love needs to say strange things
sometimes. I hope
it comes across,
I hope I say it right.
I hope you hear words
guided by that other, higher

Because there are other,
less cautionary tales
about Hamlet and you,
Marlon and Johnny,
learning, growing, loving
or even poop,
That enrich (or disgust) us each indeed.
(Just ask Garcia Lorca–he’s
over there with Ginsberg
and Whitman on the third isle.)


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