This poem is for you
You, who took the slowboat to oblivion
and became a realistic unreality
The last phone call
The thick viscous rage in your throat
in your throat that shut me out
Time does not heal
Only blunts the edge of pain This poem is for you
Already, in a moment of prescience I can see it crumpled
In your fist
Flung away
Let this poem be
Another act of defiance
Against you
From whose loins
I have sprung
This poem is for you.