(suddenly, very presently,
very cosmically aware of my
body,)

i find myself upset about
the prospect, the
inexpressible and
inescapable fact,
that as i use what i have,
it will disappear.

what an awful
thing to say.
i look at my hands.

i will have to
ration, i think.

i sit, i look
at these hands,
present and
cosmic.

i guess i just
can't love anything
anymore, i think.

i wiggle my fingers
and they fade.

yeah, i guess that's
what that means.