| | All this talk including a shaft
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.
You were catching my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs
with friends spent, whose names like patients’ names.
Our clumped crave stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Wish in the propriety locale, you said, is faith misplaced
or no expectancy at all. But I say, in my dreams I dream,
in my dreams I do not hope.
Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades for the gain as patsy of our previous war.
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