Prehumously [for Viktor Bout]

I came by way of sailors
who flood the coast with Stuff

A transplant fifteen hours
packed in all kinds of swag
the cabin there

was supposedly his,
dark curtains, quieted
nervous until sleep

expecting to wake into
that yellowed print:
carbines & Kevlar,

fevered summer of
Côte D’Ivoire—once immune
Motherland

I came dreaming
(not as myself but I knew him)
I seemed instantly aged

& steps behind him, he
who they say sells Death,
asleep in this room

making Past for life in constant Self revision,
securing luxuries, peddling misdirection