you've got mail

Ben Wannamaker, editor of Fodder Mag, friend, poet, activist of affection and dweller of my heart, wrote this for me(to me) in an email on May 27th, 2010:


Poets have
so much time
on their hands,
creators of terms
and humanization;

head anthropologists
of interrogation and
ringers of real
spirit and reasonability;

bar no one else opting
for a place in this place
where:

the
top
reminds
you
of
you

and

the
bottom
reminds
you
of
you

and

you
can't know
everyones
everything.

Instead we rely to
obscene degrees,
lie
on a sheet and worship
the time the small bolts
left stronger bonds in
the brain; search for our
salad days where things
sure to come never quite
became.

Making change off mystery

is dated.


Misery is peek-a-boo babies
that
don't
get
the joke.


Don't wallow or be afraid, get
flustered or increase the beat
of your individual blood flow;
or really, resort to anything.

Panic?

Why should that be?

We now know
there's no
such thing
as strange

rs;


it's true, the ones
before you lied about
that;

laid In parts, too;

in sheets
like one'll
be lucky
to not be capable of:

even saying

one

did.


And it's true:

we can all

be a pillar