I used to send you personal poems
thoughts presented in secret
just for you
so you would know
just how I felt.
I see little point in
that little exercise anymore
for
every poem’s about you.
Every thing I’ve read
Every thing I wrote
all my recitations
of my recent thoughts have been about,
around,
regarding you.
– well, there was one about a porcupine always needling me… That’s about some other prick.

But the rest
the highs
the lows
the blowouts
and bursts of depression
these are art
that was painted on canvases of our past.
They’re all about you.

So take them as news
or a view into my heart
or head
or straight into my hard-on.
Every poem’s for you.