Dear John,

It’s funny how they mention it,
without really saying.
Scares the hell out of me really.

It’s just what John has taught us,
it’s just what Elvis taught us,
James Dean and Marilyn,
have struggled into permanence.
And I want to drink to them,
they seem so pretty.
Scares the hell out of me really.

Dear John,

What are we really seeking?
That funny feeling in a musty attic,
old papers and old souls?

My grandfather, your mother,
my dad.
Its not the same,
they don’t make me feel immortal,
just sad.
Scares the hell out of me really.

Scares the hell out of you too.
Maybe that’s why we watch it on the tube:
Blue light in a dark room,
a late night show of,
my hands in your hair,
your hands in my heart.
Scares the hell out of me really.

Dear John,

Do we really have a choice,
or imagine that we don’t?

Dear John,

-ERK
3/16/88
12:45pm

This poem started as a Dear John letter to John Lennon, and just went from there.