I can’t write this
with you outside
it occurs to me
that this is weird
weirder than my pile habit
or issues with buffet restaurants
though not as weird as my ex-husband
who put war paint on
to hunt squirrels from the porch
definitely weirder than my beef jerky obsession
and what I did to my hair in the 80s
but not half as strange as
what happened at church camp when I was 12
and so I am a little flummoxed
and overly critical
as is my nature, I guess
analysis and interpretation
not favorable
highlighting the interminable
tattoos of issues
etched where muscle used to be
backbone less
spine wavering
tenuous from tip to tip
tripping on intricate illusions
in on one sided conversations
with the better part of myself
not saying much
in response I nod
it goes unheard
I go on
like a tick
tick
tick
you’ve been gone too long
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