mid life, mid night, leaving

it's only one thirty, feels like three
in the morning
I seem to be mourning
for the life lost to time
when I hadn't enough,
energy
got stuck to my spine.

my mind had a body ache,
that misplaced my mind….

it is time to be gone now,
not standing
with my tongue-
between my molars
eys searching scarcity,
for the ones
who left me
disjointed at the front
of the chill

of one thirty
when it feels like three
and there's not enough you
and too much of me
and the leaves nod and flee
to sea, my
son.


I can't read the recipe
for a new life:
my glasses are on
the bed sleeping
my love/hater
wished I'd had more
to give,
not knowing
I'd given more than I had,
stealing life
from cold kasha,
chicken butt

an ice box,
I'm not
empty, so why
am I eating?

I'd just as easily in-jest my mail
or a male,
to be more specific;
but whose asking
me
to be more specific
Just me,
and the Pacific,
peaking

and I’m leaving
these leaves,
releasing
their cleaving,
exchanging New England for the freedom to continue breathing