I awoke, it was 5 AM or some such ridiculous number
and there are definitely at least two types of people in this world
morning people, and people who like to sleep in the morning
but I am trying to forget him
a feeling I have, this isn't even going to be anything
not a passing friendship, I think he decided yesterday
because I am what I am and I'm glad the Netherlands outlawed mink farms
and he likes to dissect them and I can't, I read a book today and it says
you can't be who you aren't just to please someone else and I love
animals and hate those who persecute them and I find myself
on the freeway, in the dark, practically a traffic jam of morning people
and then streets filled with them like they think it's noon
and I arrive at a steaming factory where it looks like people are being
boiled alive there is so much steam and human arms rising out of the water and back again
like they are struggling to the surface, only to be pulled back down and boiled
waving for help and no one helps.
It's 6:05 when I finally get to split a lane with someone I can barely see because
human figures dissapear 25 meters away in what now looks like dense fog and
the coach smiles at me, like he sees I'm crazy too
Rush hour, underwater is clear, but who called this strange meeting of people in water?
A stressed, crowded swim and I'm back to the silent phone with ice toes that might
break off so I take drink and begin to sweat
And I deleted all the numbers last night but there was a text so
I look and there it is, and I only look at the area code because I can't
memorize that number. That is death.  You can't escape then.
And by mid morning I've called again and there is no answer
and by mid afternoon I remember to delete all numbers and I missed one
call from a collector, but he hasn't called back and I've been rejected
by someone I don't even like and somehow it makes it worse
because I had planned to tell him I didn't want to see him
that I wasn't sure about this, day trips, all that when I've never
ever had a conversation with him I've enjoyed.
And I sit at my desk, because by God, I must do work now and
desks make you do more work and I don't want to leave the house
because I'll spend money and there is no money and my big giant
grey and white cat takes up at least half the desk.
And the phone is silent
And I do some work
And look up silly things like how you get a stallion to ******* into a device
and it's actually pretty easy.
And a married Polish composer starts chatting with me on Facebook
and so I get off.

It was out of sight and too far
Now it's off but it's still there
but it won't co-operate and I'm scared
How could I come this far
have so much wisdom a whole bunch of  intuition
and then at the hint of a little romance
I'm naked in that storm, without a chance
Cold wind blows through my tinted hair
Snow flakes melting on my body, here and there
Obsession

Panic ensues, desperate OCD
I know I'm truly crazy
What to do with this **** phone?
The call I want won't come through on its own
I need it, can't destroy it
Right now I'd like to boil it
I need to be away from civilization
I'm not made for normal conversation
I tried to turn it off and it resisted
I had to press real hard, but finally it desisted.  
Peace.

And I'm throwing it off the pier
I want to hear it as it hits the water
see the splash and feel
a drop come back up in my face
the ***** diesel water will cleanse
and maybe then I'll finally be on the mend
I don't even know much about him
Just talked to him a few times, but already
that thing is kicking in and I don't feel fine

Four messages on my phone, his is the last
"You're more difficult to get a hold of than I am, see you at work."
Rejection assumed, blow her off, see her at the copy machine
I call, already feeling like I'm invading his space, since he's said
see you at work and that's a week away
But he answers and it turns out he is injured from mud football
Sitting there, in pain, wondering if he's bleeding internally
An Emergency room down the street.  He'll tough it out.
My X.  Rugby. He scored and exploded a part of his spine in his neck
but we went to three bars that night and he refused to go to the ER
which was just down the street.
I woke up alone, he came back floating on meds, an X-ray in tow, asking for warm things
I found an electric neck wrap, then
he was plastered onto the floor
fast asleep, neck wrap on high, the cord stretched taught across the living room.
Never fully recovered.  His muscular arms, the right one, withered away.
One day I gasped in internal horror as I saw it, smooth, looking more like mine
extending out from the now loose fabric ring of a sleeve of a polo shirt
His left arm now the muscular one, filling out the shirt on the other side
It was sickly, and unattractive, and I lost some faith him that moment, and felt guilty
and his pain, it never fully left him
When we divorced he blamed me for not stopping him
from playing Rugby that day.
We had to divorce, or I was going to end up like his right arm
I tell this new one--go to the ER.
So he decides to.  Why does he need a woman to tell
him to make sure he is not bleeding internally?
"it hurts, it usually doesn't" stating the obvious
"I'll take some magazines" he says, now showing a bit of initiative
Sure, I think,  make sure to take some ****, to pass the time and take away the pain
And that's all there is, no time for conversation
Except when I talk he likes it, but then has to go real quick
How many men have died without a woman to tell them to get help?
Same old...how to just let it go
How to not get wrapped up?
How not to care, but just eye him
as an object d'art, noticing his features
a reporter, taking in his personality
But resisting the urge to dive in
Leave it hazy, just walk away
it's not worth it, at least not yet

Warm and fuzziness is the feeling I crave
That feeling that everything is OK, with me, the world,
the sun is shining, I'm out of that dank cave
And there's one way to get it, even though I know even though I've been told
through science I know, there are really two ways

Science isn't poetic, but it explains and you can understand it
Doesn't change much of anything in how you feel as you go along
I feel like I'm living through a ****** Kesha song
and that is sad and just plain wrong

Men.  They can give me, that seratonin high
And there's nothing better, although I've looked well nigh
everywhere and run down train tracks, into seedy bars,
took those pills in plastic bags and ***** jars,
it always comes back to that one elusive feeling
that floating, I am attractive, enough and everything will be just fine
And I'd drink a case of wine
except I know it wouldn't take me there,
just make me sick, and lie around making a rat's nest of my hair

It makes me seem desperate
For the guy who is experiencing me and it
I don't even have to like him
He just has to turn a kind eye and off I go
That's how I entangled with my X I know
I didn't even like him much, but off I went
and ended up married under one of those Jewish tents

So one call and I'm high
And then an hour later it's over and I'm low
There is only one thing I know
I must take the sage advice
that I've paid a high price
for
and that is: this feeling, to myself I can give
and if I learn that I won't feel like this
I can, anyone can, renew from the inside out
I don't have to walk around in helpless doubt

But it's the hardest thing in the world
harder than the butterfly stroke
that I'd never tried to learn
I wish there were drugs in some ancient urn
and I'd walk a thousand miles on my knees
until they were bloodied
to plunge my hand in and consume that thing
or I wish at least I had some book
that could teach me how to get there, or at least how it would look
Just be here, science says, that's all it does.  It's not enough.

I know we'll have a fabulous time together
Next semester at work will be great
I'll be warm and fuzzy for life
I've never actually been out with him
Never been alone with him
It's just, when it comes to men, I'm ******.