Row

Like a black and white fever,
the blurred grounds were bisected and spun
the lake pasted to the end of a kaleidoscope
his wrist bare and hair long
and rowing—
through veiny green waters stagnant as clotted blood
but overflowing with life
that would land on my brow
to annihilate itself between touching skin
so maybe that was you.

I liked to think I knew you
and that you knew me in some capacity
greater than just a photogenesis or a list of what I was not
so I’m curious how evil I was in your dream
that you won’t hold me in the night
because what if you were wrong
had it backwards
and I’m evil now?

I need you to hammer it out
like some scattering formalism
don’t worry about terms I won’t understand
‘cause when I finally reach the gold trimmed logbook
entitled 2008-????
you won’t even recognize me.