Far out in the gray waters there are storms, there are crews
in trouble right now, as I write this, as you read this
letter or poem or whatever it is they drown, listen Dan
the shoreline is no safe harbor either, its sharp rocks
rip even the stoutest hull apart like it’s a wasp’s nest
and the wasps swarm the shore, forget the shore, Dan;
oh and Dan, forget that big house inland, that house was built
with envy, not wood, not brick, not stone; it is hell
also to be under the tall tree when the storm rolls in,
leaves fill the air and eddy everywhere, there is no shelter
when the tower falls and the little city surrounding
cries “Eek!” and they start unzipping body bags pronto.
Oh, love is a yo-yo: when you’re high, you’re already
feeling the pull of gravity, but when you’re low
it’s really magical how you climb up the way you fell.
I’ve made my heart so calloused I can’t be cheered
but you know, Dan, I’m never lonely, and that’s something.
In the winter I don’t shiver, I just sit there smiling.
In the summer, I never smile – I play cards indoors.
Apollo isn’t always throwing darts, you know-
he has a lyre too and he likes to throw lyre parties.
It’s sunny somewhere, Dan. The sun is shining somewhere.
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