there is more to it all
than running away,
which i have always
and never done

i used to cap my
bones in steel
wash them over with
milk, stand at the river's
edge and feel myself sink
in the pierce,
without ever wading
out,
you could call it a somatic
symptom, as if blowing away
were a disorder--
and yet feeling heavy
enough to sink a thousand
ships but they
should know i'm
no Helen.

i was teetering on the apex of delirium
bony fingertips scrabbling at the air grasping at absolutely nothing
the concrete jungle below presaging certain death
on my tippy toes on unstable soil
tottering and turning with the world askew before my eyes
i fell before i found the light
/
my eyelids cracked themselves open
my irises protested and my retinas sent
shockwaves of pulsating light
through my disoriented mind
suddenly i didn't want the light anymore
didn't want the truth that i carved through my ribcage for
wasn't too hard, diagnosed myself with somatoform
prescribed myself with anagelsics
and sweet, sweet, slumber came
/
nolstagia sweeps by like an autumn breeze
faded memories rustling in the wind
that smell of muted, jaded wonder
i avoid the falling leaves like lava
hop, skip, hop
i press my lips together when i walk past the street cleaner
dutifully raking away the brittle, useless appendages
i am half tempted to leap into the neatly swept piles of the past summer
but i dig my heels in and stride past a life long gone