Detachable Me

I can’t tell anymore
if you are walking toward or away

still subway and street curvature draws you
with my hazy lazy eye, a sketch
of shoulders and jawbone browned with hazel freckles

come summer everything weighs more
until the humid limp you looked so good on paper

I keep walking past the place you stopped
intent on blindness being merely the sweat in my eyes


I’m bent over looking through my knees
the cat reversed, his checkered linoleum reflection righted

beyond him the room is below my stalactite possessions
the escher-stair boxes of books ready to sell, ready to spill
the paintings propped against the ceilingfloor
all the smiles frown, all the heavens hell

I have no part in this except for the rushing
of blood the gravity of my cheeks and hair
the cat twining about my legs
above my head and so below


the great redrimmed eyeballs of my failing gerbers
frighten me terribly, madness would be so welcome now
hanging up my hatter thoughts midsentence and

simply plucking each sore petal, deconstructing
how the body dies, beautifully drooping

summer is coming like a sadist
with a torch to scorch, blister, peel

what is my skin? the color of a peach, the rind
so I move in tight circles searching for the pit