And my own image.
I had a dream
In which he appeared, clean-limbed with his horsetail
Tresses, so unfit for manhood. His entire presence
We sat down to meat as tasteless
As the flesh of a pear. The water at hand was
Warm, and our bread was unbuttered.
The only things we had to say were said
With our minds driving away from each other.
He was absorbed in his lifeless meal,
I was dividing sums, dividing the sums of sums,
Rendering the known numbers down unto the death
Unto the death of the senses.
My second self had left table and circled
And stood at my side, watching me tweak the figures,
The numbers shrinking as I pared them down unto
It was as if, in the clutches of the gin, the cotton
Shrieked out loudly. Wrung out, I felt. I, in
Scrubs with socked feet. He, in the clothes of a passerby,
A tourist in the lap of suffering.
He drew a chair to my side. I was distracted, with my pencil
Whisking over the page. He stayed my hands and,
As with all due mercy,
Swept my figures away. I let the numbers
I was getting better,
Everyone saw it.