I had a lovely dream last night

... that my dead friend came by to see me. There was some kind of ceremony in the background; I think it was my cousin's wedding, but when I retell the story it will be Gianni's own funeral. I asked him to stay. He said he could stay with me until the ceremony was over. We sat on a blanket on the grass and watched - it was like the Hollywood Bowl then - and he put his head on my shoulder until it grew dark.

Yesterday was Gianni's memorial service. I couldn't go. I like to think Gianni wanted me to know that I could take as long as I needed to let him go.

A Strange Thing Happened to You

Remote in death, you
become platitudes. Perfect -
not the friend I miss.

To Gianni

I'm in anguish that you're dead. It's almost physical. I always knew, from the moment I read Laura's email, that it was the guilt that would destroy me, and yet knowing that never made it any easier. I still want you back like you were my best friend in the world. You and I have unfinished business. I should have had dinner with you that day you wanted Mongolian beef, and I said I was vegetarian, and that I was having dinner with another friend. I should have invited you to come too. I should have invited you to have dim sum at my graduation party, because I knew how much you loved dim sum. I should have told you I was graduating. I should have said good bye.

I should have been sad that you were unhappy, instead of feeling smug that you needed me more than I needed you.

At first it gave me comfort to see how much your friends loved you and missed you, because they reminded me of what it was like not too long ago, when you were still alive. But then slowly something strange happened. The memories became more remote, more perfect. You became a sublimation. You were flawless, kind and generous and joyful. It's true those were your best qualities, but you were so much more. You were also childish and cowardly and at times a little dumb. You were a real person, just like I am now, still living.

THAT is the person I miss, my friend, the one who kills me by having gone away. The more I read these sublimations, the more palpable it is to me that you are truly dead. It's unbearable. I'd rather pretend like none of this happened, that the goofy coward were still there if I were hungry and wanted a late-night snack. I should have said yes to your late-night taco truck.

Ceremony

I was there. May 28, 2011 at Gilman.

Eggshell Vanity

Beautiful Tesla.
How it would intoxicate
to wreck with mere key.

You Watered My Wings

You watered my wings, and cooled my anxiety,
baked in the carcass of my old teenage lust.
Your lithe back is my Socratic satiety.

I won't impose on your mind, for defeat has so blighted me.
I refuse to besmear you with my heart's scabby crust.
You watered my wings and cooled my anxiety,

and for one perfect moment, I lingered delightedly;
I watched your lips as you carelessly cursed.
Your lithe back is my Socratic satiety.

I could have kissed you, in grateful piety,
but I held back, fearing to leave you nonplussed.
You watered my wings and cooled my anxiety

but I knew you'd not grasp, until my harsh moiety
became yours, and degraded, you committed to dust
that lithe image, once my Socratic satiety -

Only then would you know why I choose anonymity,
nor pester you with my reanimated lust.
You watered my wings and cooled my anxiety.
Your lithe back was my Socratic satiety.