You know what I`m
like when I`m sick: I`d sooner
curse than cry. And people don`t often
know what they`re saying in the end.
Or I could die in my sleep.
So I`ll say it now. Here it is.
Don`t pay any attention
if I don`t get it right
when it is for real. Blame that
on terror and pain
or the stuff they`re shooting
into my veins. This is what I wanted to
sign off with. Bend
closer, listen, I love you.
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1 comment:
That is a poem for me and all the rest of us who like him have an incurable cancer. I am in awe of this man. Thank you Annie Proulx for mentioning him in your latest book, Bird Cloud...I would never have 'met' him otherwise.
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