On Finding Bloodstains in My Notebook After a Bad Party

The bloodstains on this page

are islands made asleep

by strangers. Not of my knife

or knowing, they appear

as Thule did to mariners

lost in the monstered maps

of medieval cartography.

So, however here, be here,

as proof or fiction that

a secret brother dreams

while I’m awake

and wakes up while I sleep,

as mapper, sea-self, twin,

who navigates a course for me

from here to the Bloodlust Isles

so I can wake up as a liar,

not knowing where I’ve been.