My mind turns over
The memory of you
The way fingers fixate
On ballpoint pens
Hangnails, split ends
The place I go
When there is
No place for me
I scold myself endlessly
As my thoughts
Return like a stray cat,
Desperately feeding
Unable to satisfy
Hunger that has rested
In my ribs for so long
I hardly recognize
The cues
You are not a madness
But an ache
Ever present
You are not a sickness
But a muse













