Thoughts You

I won't/can't read the papers     Your name
In tabloid type     trumpeting
Strumpets and moral outrage of those
Who hide the perversions in quieter places.
Not the wire pale metallic tattooing
And: "But I thought you were younger. A boy,"
A clock Captain Hook ticking in the background,
You angry and hurt     Me     wanting to say, only:
"Shut up. Don't say more. Don't damn yourself.
You were          Nice enough.
Just digging yourself deeper now."
And your eyes that knew past point of caring.

Hyena journalists, paparazzi capturing soul pains,
"He wasn't a bad person," I said, them stunned
Silent, veering away in search of tamer game.
     Congratulated for confusing them a breath
     and the second advice on shrinks, perhaps
To make my head smaller, or a different shape with
Their psyiogomical ways, trying to understand him.
And through him, me. "I've always looked young."
"Why do you do this?" "Someone has to," I say.
"Why does anyone     do anything.     Looking away
is harder," and they just look away.

And your name is bigger now          almost a war
Older scandals come to light and hard-eyed confessions.
     I wonder if any of them
     Found him kind, or
     gentle.
There is no one to ask Sadness heavy in
the silence. I see you on the TV; I yet wonder still:
How do your eyes still look kind     and forgiving?