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Show Blue Run/76 "Do what?" "Don't fuck him You know the deal" "Christ, O.W." "You know the deal." And that was that-I did know the deal. O.W. knew-he had to know. I'm not that careful And of course he'd threatened more than once to take my life-with a gun, with a knife, with his own bare hands. It'd be a fight, we both knew that. But I danced all night and night became day Shawn and I slept till three, him in those silky red underwear. Shawn on the king bed with that smile and bright blue eyes. Shawn Terrence Lord in a tuxedo shirt tucked into faded jeans at Jacques and Suzanne's where we sipped Zellar Swartz Katz and laughed at the Spirit of Arkansas blowing stacks all down the river. The last picture, the one I see so clearly now, is of me and Shawn dressed for the gala, posed by a crystal chandelier. He's a head taller than me This is our second day in DC, the inauguration's day after tomorrow Joey will join us soon. He'll tell Shawn that O.W 'd cut his throat should he ever find out-true enough. Then Bill Clinton will get sworn in and Miller Williams will read the long, wacky poem he wrote half-snockered on bourbon and branch water. Shawn Terrence will turn his face from the camera He won't allow Joey to photograph him, and I'll be surprised how that hurts, though it seems a smart thing now. He'll write me a long letter, one that explains how it's time to move on to the next horizon, how you had to turn loose of the old before new growth could happen. He'd write something about not mistaking the journey for the destination, wacky California crap if you ask me. And that'll be that. He'll write this long letter that's folded this second in my briefcase, tied with a piece of Traceleen's red school yarn. |