What I Wrote To Evan Stephens

...when he asked me to write to him about the most recent movie I had seen.


Howl

I saw the best minds of my generation
merged, in a creative writing class and twisted,
involuntarily, through the years. Endlessly seeking
ecstasy, truth, and intuition in a partner or
in many partners or in the pursuit of something larger than all of us.
We visit over social media and in 400 level classes and in museum corridors and like and unlike what is happening in our worlds.
We laugh because the names are all the same, recycled, a relic of what we once grabbed and fed upon and experienced for the first time, ecstatic.
And each time is new, and each time is a redemption for what was lost, and each time we shyly look down at our shoes, and smile, and remember, and face the present gazing upon us: brilliant, social, bright.
We force the truth to flow out of our mouths and are grateful for whatever kind landing it arrives upon; we want to be understood, we do not think you possibly can, and you surprise us, time after time, kind eyes and strong fingers.
Your touch is an unexpected gift, it stays with us longer than we expect it will.
We are teeming in the here and now, we are -- you cannot understand -- we are bursting into this new life
which begins now
which is endless
which is home.