Topic: What is success?
All this talk in every way 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 covet stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Security in the front niche, you said, is count misplaced
or no hope 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 behalf of the receipts as casualty of our anterior to war.
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