Cleaving the new year

Letter to Diana Manister

I'm a writer—

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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