I had a thought but I’ve forgotten it.
But I wrote down some things earlier today.
It could be that the friend of my first lover, the one
whose name I see on movie credits,
is already composing the score.
The one who came up from the deep lagoon,
or in his case what’s left of the North Pole,
came to probe me.
Now that everything we ever do online is recorded and observed
he may be getting a commission for all I know,
from the weirdly vibrant crystalline ones who have turned the world
inside out and upside down
(a song from radio way back when)
You turn me on.
There were other friends of his too,
they were all alums of a place called the King School.
Which I now realize whose sole purpose,
à la Poe’s purloined letter hidden in plain sight,
was to create kings. Kings.
Young kings, in crisp oxford shirts, with mesmerizing intellects, dazzling test scores,
They imbibed parents’ intoxicating libations from crystal decanters,
and found intelligent young female goblins as myself
irresistible and for the archives of all time.
In my dream, he sent me a message today: “1” was in the title line.
2 September 2008