Confessions at Sunset

I hope this one is as funny to read as it was to write, in a self-depricating kind of way...

CONFESSIONS AT SUNSET,
the piece was called,
just an intersection of cherry pie
with a finite edge of canvas
a lot like who you are too me
a memorable suggestion
of what I might be
before the world sets in
presses its jaws
into my soft corners

and we share some hardships,
are foreign as terrorists
with others
and you said
in essense,
that I should be proud to profess
my own exposure
in this confessional
this Six-by-V. cell of Honesty
that we call poetry
but defects and diseases
shouldn't sound pretty on paper
like the Hallowed Sounds of Victims
or Hellbound Shepards of Vice
not glamourous at all
to say it plainly
even when you're gentle about it
and say it like an anagram

Look it's serious,
but not that serious.
I mean it's not fatal
usually.
The cigarettes are more deadly
than this
but still.
There it is.
My anagramatical SHiVe.