Letter to Diana Manister
I'm a writer—Diana
Nothing else—matters to me.
As a poet—I’m sure you understand
Death is final—Diana
The death of Sylvia Plath = the END
Whether it was suicide—or murder
That's all moot now—her oeuvre is complete
The loss of such young talent—is what's tragic
My work—isn’t over quite yet
It began with—the SF Gay Literary Renaissance
Since the ‘70s we’ve lost—a whole generation
The gay muse—wiped off the face of the earth
Whatever I write—is dedicated to them
And my—gone lover
I’ll write poetry—until my last breath
No matter what—because time is of the essence
Cleave it N=O=W, sweetheart!!!
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