Love Letter to Duane Locke
Oh, Duane,
you bitter old bastard, nobody loves
spiders. If she says she does,
she’s just saying it to impress you. However,
I am a woman who puts the spiders out.
I do not love them, but I will not stand for
spider killing in my house.
As for the rest, we agree on many things;
although I’ve never seen do-it-yourself sponge painting
turn out very well, I would love to sleep
in a in a sea of dithering daffodils. Also,
I prefer flowers, even dead ones,
to limousines, and I am thrilled by caressing
the skins of most living things.
And you say you don’t care
if some beautiful woman falls in love
and kisses your poems after you’ve been dead
three hundred years, but,
you must have thought about it enough
to have made that comment. Duane,
I am your damn dark sparkle of sunflower shadows.
And if you pull the arrows out of the side of the oak,
my Druid blood will soak into your bones,
and I will finally be home.
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