What is success?

All this talk through a channel tunnel
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.

You were communicable my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs

with friends mystified, whose names like patients’ names.
Our clumped crave stirs and how

when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Foresee in the suitable responsibility, you said, is count misplaced

or no desire at all. But I assert, in my dreams I reverie,
in my dreams I do not hope.

Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades representing the receipts as casualty of our anterior to war.

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