O shrimp whose tinny voice has steered me back
from drunk driving and deep-fried heart attack –
has faced down like a fish-matador, the Whale of
Want you rode once gallomphing through
black & lusty seas – you rarely remember your
myriad defeats at the hands of drugs or booze
or bad TV – or, how after a hundred epic fails, you
suddenly stood your ground,
became concentrated fizzy stuff, like a soda can shook up.
On a dark morning, your fierce brow urges me
up and Adam. In general, it’s bad luck to write you
off, your test-tube labeled believe in me or else.