Danny, Danny, beautiful exotic creature!
How I envied you that summer
with your poise and sophistication,
wrapped like a blanket around your shoulders.

Your dusky, sun swept body
Shimmering iridescent  in the half light,
made my heart skip a beat,
made my adolescent dreams take flight.

One glance from your flashing eyes
and I was your slave for life
when you spoke, I listened
drowning in ecstasy, struggling for air.

All through that magical summer
I dwelled in your shadow
a supplicant waiting for permission to speak,
I silently watched and learned.

Oh, you taught me many things
How to promise much and deliver little
How to create an illusion of love and desire,
here today and gone tomorrow.

I learned to look beyond the mask of refinement,
to strip away the polish of gentility,
to reach the essence of humility.
To dig deep, until I found the fundamental being.

Danny, Danny, you were my first love
and my last love,
forever in my heart,
my taste of paradise, elusive, fleeting and immeasurably sweet!



What does Very Close mean?
What is poetry for,
and what does “parse” mean…
Like when someone says they are sad people can’t read long poems… they’re not sad, just sad, which is sad (but somehow not sad).

Therefore, poetry is a) for ourselves, and those who like, come as they may…
b) what I’ll call guerilla action, aiming to please without being stunned by dissent/ calling it this because it’s grown rather lame to say, the only good poet is a dead one.

To me, language aids in discernment.
Discernment in life of course is optional.
But it (discernment) is the rungs of the Stairway To Heaven.

I read this closely because I wrote it. What you and others write I scan to see “whether it’s useful” ha??


I never hurt you
And yet I presume to feel your pain
From so very many miles away.

Could it be what draws me to you:
Not your graceful brilliance
Not your studied maturity
Not your elegant loveliness
Not your warm, innocent wonder
Not your snapdragon wit
Not your silky femininity
Not even your sparking joy

But just the glow of a deep, sure wound
That he made long before I met you,
While you still trusted that you could give
Safe, your precious heart
Into another’s hands.

Is it the burn, the hurt, the soreness
That makes me care for you?

It tires me; it frightens me.
You cling so steadfastly to it.

I want to befriend you, to give you comfort.
Yet everything I do is never right.
I stand apart, always wrong.
I admit I wanted far too much,
But can’t imagine exactly why that should be.

I know I am a field of broken ice,
Not fit yet for a warm connection.

But please please please,
Trust just once more;
Let’s be friends
Let my ice
Soothe your burn.