For Daniel.
(If I say your name, ninjas might jump out of the screen and tear my fingers off.)
You were very loud; I was very quiet; I did not like you.
I gave you a chance and you nestled into our home.
Together we walked the streets of St. Paul
in search of something worth filming.
Together we talked through the melancholy night
about 'stupid guy problems' that shake
us to our very soul, making us stare at our
vision-painted ceilings, 'till we wonder why we're here.
You are luckier than me.
That is the truth, devoid of argument or reinforcement.
How lucky am I to watch you
frolick in the garden of a loving spring.
There is one more statement, or love letter, as I say,
since you and I have turned soft and so the world is safer:
You are not sheltered. I know this rings true,
since neither of us are anywhere near that tongue-toxin word.
It is the world that is sheltered!
Sheltered from our dream-visions,
sheltered from our road-trip fantasies,
sheltered from the passion,
the growth we blossom,
the trust we build towering over the steel-gray structures and the world beyond,
the unconditional love we both know of through entirely different kaleidescopes.
They are ultimately the unlucky ones.
So take my hand, gentle brother,
and we'll ninja-jump past them all.
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