As covered in bright hats
and middle age as I am, don’t you dare
think I don’t want to lose myself.
Bad lovers lose each other in themselves.
The young and false fall into murky lakes.
Just because my eyes are full of frightful sights—
babies lost in bathwater
whose mothers hid in heaving sheets,
students pierced so full of holes they can barely
hold what they drink in—
don’t think I’ve stopped
looking for a full and pounding dream.