If perceived by some good-looking lunk,
he’s not bothered.
I make myself understood,
do an eerie, confounding story
that can’t be easily synopsized.
Living a humdrum life with charismatic heir
to fortune turns out to be mercurial, controlling,
and the relationship between the two men unravels
toward violent conclusion, a Greek tragedy in slow motion –
builds tension with unrelenting authority, offering a lingering,
palpable unease all the more riveting.
Motives could be benevolent or sinister,
don’t so much play the part as disappear into it.
He hulks and staggers, dangerous and flawed
in a way he didn’t realize.
Why do you want this? There’s no resolve.
The end result has all the subtlety –
he keeps it quiet and intimate and charged,
a snarl of envy, revulsion, repressed lust.
We carried the energy of our relationship around with us.
Hitting the mat together is language. You become aware,
after repetitive activity, of where he is all the time.
They spent a week together.
How I walk is Mark,
that’s not me making some choice.
I wanted to be caveman.
I wanted to be terrifying to people.
I didn’t want to be friend.
[NOTE: Found/blackout poem crafted from a TIME article titled “Body of Work,” as written by Sam Lansky about actor Channing Tatum wrestling with his new roles.]