In the spirit of clarification

Jon's poem, 'Naked' references this one that I wrote about four members of our little coterie. It is late to the party, I apologize.

Dear:

—katherine

I don't remember ever falling
in love with sunsets, like worry

it was always there. Yet the stop-light
moment frozen in amber

skylines over sloping hills, reminds
each of us that beginnings exists.

Even as the sunsets nurse
the seeds of our forgetting.


—jonathan

to prove that boys are giants
is to undress the lion, file his teeth

and show that naked, he is fiercest.
He is fiercest, who knows only

what is beautiful. I follow suit. Unloosening
the riff and the tie. Jon, I'm getting there.


—alesia

If all the poems died, I think we would
laugh and drink beer to bitterness.

We would dance in the ashes of old
worlds and in our caffeine fingers, pray

new ones. Not just poets, but makers
better than those titans before who

pried worlds from words. We are the word:
Logos. Thunder. Sound and Fury. Always.


—beatrice

The body, which is art electric, art persona; masks
secrets which long to be naked. Fuck

polite skins, tear them off - wear earrings in our
ears. The body is the poem, is the method

of the message. I have long learned that skin
is a form of silence in which things not said

become poems and poems and poems.