Some Days

I want to lay myself down,

like the simple object

of a transitive verb.

I want to have picked

myself up, only to have

laid myself down.

Both mind and body.

While the rest of me —

goes with the wind

touching the leaves.

Tethered, green,

and free.

Morning trip to the wells

I go to the wells for comfort

and by wells I mean what has always

worked- or at least craved.

Chocolate, the thought of sex,

starting therapy again, a long stretch

face downward on a mat. Putting

something in a shopping cart.

Stay abed til the last possible minute,

even if the sheets have a funk.

This time it is only the comic

I started drawing in my head,

the sketch of myself with a caption,

that opens up my ill-used body,

creaks my stiff muscles, tight chest,

free of my mind. Puts despair

into motion. Airs it out.

It hurts to be in

my body today.

I’m thinking –

vaporous cloud

for the next life.

To be born,
safe,
work.
Walk around
in a body
and meet
other people
like this.