GAY SISTER

Never stop being a poet.

Even when

friends and lovers abandon you

or the flowers wilt by the window

the secondary nature of your heart beat

is the murmur of your words.

If a vocalist looses her meanderings

then by proxy you will find

the hidden persuasions of your meanings 

and within your mind she will go.

The lesbian who gives floral offerings

whose flowers will not convert

the anx of its sudden emotional worth

is a river of pain

unwinding and dead end.

We choose who we love

or does love choose us my gay sister?

Heterosexual delusions

are complex by their assertive natures

love losing its connectors

trying to plug into the voice of illusions.

I may be a straight brother

but I turn in my bed for your torments

and listen to your tears fall

as if they were dying stars from Heaven.

Never stop being a poet.

Even when friends and lovers abandon you

choose who you’ll love.

When Hell's fire burn their way into your Soul

choose who you love.

Never stop being a poet.