Personal Poem

Now when I get personal
I have only one thing to say
(a dead gay once told me,
and meant it)
when I was here it was beautiful how it
brought me too much to my knees.
Help keep us funny in the good way,
but now we’re fine being just a little off.

I walk through the new world in street view
passing the houses that look like they’re here,
and it’s fine, cause what’s not
the left thing that
I ever wanted to keep is also what
I’d like—to have a home with you
and get older partially.
LeRoi Jones turned into this
shaking force the last time he had to.
Isn’t Amiri a beautiful name
and say yours twenty
times before we call you by
another one, Daisy. What
disease is the new breast cancer?
Don’t not look at me like that.
We go out to eat a lot in
cool but crowded restaurants
we decide to like as much as that
Henry James novel in which the people
we don’t want to be are from
San Francisco maybe, or, no, New York 
and walk on into a deathless beauty.
I wonder if Wonder is always on the internet
thinking of its distant uncles
and buying out itself out of nothing
back when now is still the future.