What is success?
All this talk through a mine
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.
You were catching my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs
with friends gone by the board, whose names like patients names.
Our clumped crave stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Foresee in the propriety locale, you said, is faith misplaced
or no expectancy at all. But I say, in my dreams I day-dream,
in my dreams I do not hope.
Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades in the service of the receipts as casualty of our whilom war.
|