Blogpoem for JoeElisa Gabbert
He's your first friend named Joe: funny, isn't it? With a name like Joe, it seems as though you should have met him before. He reminds you of someone, he will always remind you of the first Joe, because he is. It makes you feel warm, but then you start to wonder if it's him you like or just the name—but you can't go smoke on the deck with the name Joe, can't take it to a show. You can't get a call from the name Joe, though until you pick it up it kind of looks that way. You can, I guess, write a poem about the name, but the name can't read it. Or won't. No, you decide, it's Joe: this Joe and not the idea-of-Joe, the meaning-of-Joe, not the concept but the instance, the example of Joe (e.g., Joe). It's like you just took a bite of the most perfect peach in all of Venice, and now you never want a peach again. You want this one to be the last you'll ever know.
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