Abarent Behavior

I blink at light that isn’t there, And speak to shadows on the stair. My meals are clocks, my sleep is wrong— I hum one phrase all evening long. The mirror twitches when I grin, A second self beneath my skin. I file my dreams in numbered rows, And tell the ants what no one knows. I weep when spoons are out of place, And fear the kindness in a face. My hands repeat what they forget, They write confessions I’ve not met. Voices dance in copper wire, They chant in sync, they don’t retire. I laugh too loud at silence deep, I wake while others softly sleep— And swear the clouds know where I’ve been.