At Home                                                            117 Townsend       
                                                        6/26/85                                                            Apt1
                                                        12:40 AM                                                            Boston MA
                                                        Boston City                                                             02121
                                                        Public Health                   442 5097 H
                                                                                                    364 3640 W
                                                                                                    364 4555 --or 58
 
Dear Eth.
            Hi – hi my Brother. You scare me. You scare the hell out of me. I just cannot say, the fright. You make me feel you’re in real danger. As if a collision is about to take place, and I’m watching this and cannot prevent it. Eth What in the hell are you doing to yourself. I failed I guess to understand this means war. Maybe I cannot ever understand adversity. It has a magical weakness. A magical wickedness. I have been furious at you off and on for the past three years and mostly it’s at your word’s inconsistent life. Yet maybe at the base of this is something larger than I really came to understand. Yet this war I now am beginning to understand its monstrous existence. Well, it’s frightening – and it gives me butterflies in my belly. I feel so sorry – and find myself worried. And first it’s the care for you – because you are my good friend. You can be so magically beautiful – and clear and elusively a genius in reasoned conversation. That you could damage this precious gift. That you could hasten its silence – baffles me. I am compelled to think that your compellances must be demonic and chillingly brutal. I’m amazed and bewildered. I cannot say what I expect or is praying for. I just hope without any deliberate force. 

 
[pg2] It’s midnite and I’ve returned from the prison hospital. It shook me like thunder. Then like cold rain. I glimpsed you through the glass. And I couldn’t even speak to you. What kind of an arrangement is that. You mean you consented to give up so much of your civil human rights. I really ponder as to their long term successes with healings happening. The whole thing seems so violent. Nothing good comes out of prison. Wounded brilliance-?! Maybe!? You can’t call save one call in 24 hours. You can’t receive calls. You can’t leave. You signed your kidnap papers. Damn! What sort of desperation breeds and enforces this!? So. So. My friend. It tears me to pieces to see her going through personal sacred items I brought you. Like my writing my precious diary, my typed poem – The Sanitorium. Her withholding water I brought you. Fruits! My heavens, it tore me to shreds. My hands start visible shaking. My frustrations crystalized. The inability to maintain contact. You are trying to lock yourself away from your self – Eth this is not it – Seven C at the VA. Where you are locked away?! You don’t need any more jail sentences. You! Not you! You’ve got to give up jail as your metaphor. You have got to stop killing yourself. You who likes to laugh and dance and write. 

[pg3] You who parties into life’s boogie streams. Would risk it all. I began to really hurt for you must feel the agony of this confinement. And you walk the floors unknown and alone – for what. You really upset my spirit. I am unable to change your humiliations and it blew me away. So I bring your cancer sticks. Five dollars, like a child’s pocket money. I thought do you have socks. Pyjamas, a Robe? Undershirts and underpants – toothbrush and some toiletries. This wipes me out. What is your overall condition. Are you running scared. Are you unable now to fight off drugs – cuz you do not have a fortnight of the years in which you can continue this assault. I go back ‘n’ forth. I’m futile, I’m enraged. Yet I know that you need help more than words that reprimand. Why don’t you let us love you and can this be above your destructive tendencies. All of us bear intense pain. But why should yours kill you. And how dare you scare me like this? I’ll get your belongings from the bus station. I’ll keep them.
 
[pg4] I don’t know what your plans are – but let me know. I’ll stand beside you – cuz I must. We artists gots to help each other. I’m not gonna stand-by and let you suffer alone, but I want you to clean up your act for the one  hundredth time. You gonna cut short your life and prose. It’s an awful tragedy we’ve had Berrigan, Plath – Delmore, Sexton – Brodigan [Brautigan] and this list curves – why you too? Why have you wished death over life?! You gonna break our hearts real good. But you’re a heartbreaker. Are you afraid to grow old. Well. I love you too. And I know you scared – but you’re like a truant boy. You let me loose words. You let me shrink back. You may list me for N.O.K and person to contact in case of needs – emergency or reference or an advocate. You can use here as your release address, if it matters. I toyed with calling your poor mother, but I decided not. I fear if it’s the best. I know mothers’ hearts – they are the first to die and the first to cry. They remember the innocent – and looks harshly upon the words assault. Any way. You want me to call her?! I will!?

 

[pg5] You’ve got your book party coming up in the fall, will you be well to get there! I was just getting happy for you, then you gripped me with sorrow again. Eth, what’s the trouble? Brother, what’s the need to die?! Oh – I’m out of words. It’s late. I’m tired. I’m uneasy – and my short sleep will be littered with fitful thoughts.
Please guard and secure my work I loaned you & take it soon. I’m afraid it gets lost. Yet I wanted you to climb in some of my moments – hoping you’d find comfort and reassurance and that poet life will surround me. I’ve lent you my sacred map to keep you company till you get out. Papers to write. I’ll bring you stamps and envelopes. I’ll visit you each day – and although I can’t see you – hopes, that the vigilance will give you courage. I’m not sure why you crossed my path. Save destiny is played by god – I hope I can be always your friend – and not to ever judge you. You are a good person and youth is in your ways. You’re beautiful and bright. Why don’t you try to live among us for long summers.

 

[pg6] I hope you’re not too lonely. I hope you see the light. God will protect you if you lean heavily on him. I hope to pray for you each day. I will. Yet your light must shine inside you. Stop seeking love on this earth. Stop letting the fence press your freedom.
In my short life I have been so utterly rejected. Used. Manipulated. Lied to – betrayed – given unfaithfulness. Words that fist as blows. Love denied me – snatched away. Unchosen. Mocked for kindness, ostracized for brilliance. Left to the cold elements. And some secretly feel I’m suffering and hope to bring me to my knees. I don’t deserve it. Yet I’d rather it be me than you. Yet I say I have nothing now to fear. I bear no shame. I have planted no forks in people’s hearts or houses. Can you to be free. Keep an undying faith and inflict no wounds on your spiritual and mortal flesh. You are so without malice then too for your selves – be well. Please don’t break our hearts. Please! The Lord be with you my brother.

[heart heart] Deta Salome 
Keep the
Call write often          contact up