Like every catch before or since, yours is a matter of geometry
and probability. To say this is to admit that I believe in miracles.
Pro-wrestling is this: the work of death and resurrection. I watch
to see your throat cut. To see you rise, diminished. Again, again.
In your documentary's climax, you are smoking crack in the bathroom.
You show me this to articulate that some men prefer ruin.
Again the gambler crows that he has twenty-two. The game
is blackjack. Few are born to cast lots, but who does this stop?