| | All this talk by a shaft
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.
You were communicable my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs
with friends spent, whose names like patients’ names.
Our clumped appetite stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Foresee in the front place, you said, is faith misplaced
or no desire 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 representing the honour as victim of our anterior to war.
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