I feel heavy tonight
I feel like you left me

That I could stand in front of all of your mirrors and not be seen

I am tired

Why can't you give me back to me? Like the necklace
or the house key
or the old t shirt
or the mug
and the box of mint tea

(You did forget the tea. I imagine you
finding it
some months from now. A memory
that smells like sex and discomfort.)

I feel ungrounded. I used to say fallow

Now I think only barren
The diagnosis is that I can't be diagnosed and
Mary Baker Eddy says the fault is in my soul

The fault is in my soul

I dream my teeth are tan then brown then rot
till the whole top shelf slides out
like a junk drawer.
All gums, no bite. Rotted.
The rot is in my soul.

I feel the deaths pulsing between my hands.
They rot too, in me, for lack of air.