My body has taken on a life

Of its own –

It keeps a motley crew

At beck and call, its many moons,

They rise and fall

In orbit, attending to 

Its whims and fancies

(Or maybe lack thereof).

The attendees, they wax and wane 

With furrowed brows and second glances.

And yet hindsight magnifies
The margin,
Mends these cool, amnesic distances -
And there I scoff, detach,

And the thing itself seems laughably small

And inconsequential.