for me, Linus, if you had to? If.

Children wrote only in subway tunnels, would you still write me poetry?

Dialects starved, would you still cook me dinner?

Libraries slept in culverts, would you let me sleep with you?

Share your computer.

You believed you had a unique and complicated mind, would you feel outside of history, outside of society?

Your body were dragged through the dirty world, tethered behind a soaring mind.

You were so creative.

There were writers who had never had a birthday party, who had no food heat or light, would you burn a candle on a chocolate cake for me?

Is your love for me stronger than the world?

I need to know, so tell me now: you needed more of you for yourself, would you cut

  away the sun  
down resistance cut off
  out the public