For Jon

All the beauty of the Earth,
the galaxies, the milky way
is held up to a mirror
and reflected as Jon.

All the words from the beautiful songs
twist around eachother to form Jon
and all the flowers that have seen the sun
open up in bloom
to capture the gorgeosity of Jon

Jon who has been, and gone
the lately lamented
recently reverant Jon

Jon the golden son.

The impossibly gregarious
delectably delicate

Jon

Tell me where I went wrong?

The Writer

Under the ink
the words flourish
they bring on a new level of commitment
from the writer to the muse.

The dumb, ineloquent writer
always faces opposition
from the beautiful, aching muse.

The blank statements that leave the writer's pen
are no less a shakespearean sonnet
than a shakespearean sonnet is
it's just that the muse
can never properly be loved on paper
the muse can never be forsaken
with shallow, simple words.

The writer is writing her masterpiece
the muse will read it and be pleased,

The writer will delightedly dot all the i's
and cross all the t's
for the muses smile

On the first page of the rest of her life
the writer writes

For you.