I wake in a memoryless room
unlabeled and unanchored,
a floating proprioception unhinged
from time and place.
The bathroom has moved beyond the present
it is where it was once maybe.
This room is homeless.
Who walks now out of a past
thought?
Is she this other person
who haunts another me?
Who am I to gather up her reality,
to piece her together
or to deny her to sit next to me now
here at the edge of this unmade bed?
Enigma's holding hands,
children seeking comfort
in a Delphian land.
Categories:
proprioception, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I wake in a memoryless room
unlabeled and unanchored,
a floating proprioception unhinged
from time and place.
The bathroom has moved beyond the present
it is where it was once maybe
yet where it is at this moment
is forgot.
Who walks now
out of someone else’s memory
as if she owned this space?
Her face keeps changing
it forms then falls apart like melting snow
now she is this other person.
Who am I to gather up her reality
to piece together her history,
to deny her to sit next to me now
here at the edge of this bed
wanting to hold hands
for some comfort in a strange land?
Perhaps she will explain to me
why we meet only between
the shallows and the deep?
Categories:
proprioception, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Instinctive emotional response before considered thought,
experienced salutation by proprioception wrought.
Whispers towards the required faith,
when the gut feeling is the mate.
Hesitations that determine any destination,
following the knowing will of reputation.
Perspective intelligence to trust the instinct,
respect the walk of given path distinct.
Inherited ability to never walk alone,
peptides communication as metaphor sown.
The beauty from the guts allow decision in instant,
conviction of the mind by phenomenal insistent.
The differentiation of genius from mediocre,
cleared up doubts and righteous provoker.
The invisible map of intuition,
contributing solution coming to fruition.
Guts in power sets itself in perfect place and time,
the process of necessities in all the same.
O my guts, mother Mary and Joseph,
blessings in potions of wisdom are always enough.
Categories:
proprioception, 12th grade, anxiety, butterfly,
Form: Ballade
What have you stolen?
What tic, what response from me
did you palm and put in your pocket?
What have you stolen?
Did you collect the bits of paper you tore off
and paste them back together
on a blank page of your notebook?
Did you use the shreds as easter grass,
or as packing material?
Did you do something useful with them?
What have you stolen?
Do you cherish the fragments you’ve collected?
Do you have something fond to look back on?
What have you stolen?
Was it my eyelashes? my nerve endings?
my proprioception? my cartilage?
my chewed-off fingernails?
Do you keep a formaldehyde jar-full
of my intestines?
Do you hide them in a rotting shoebox?
What have you stolen?
Did I ever have something so precious
that you had to sever it from me to keep for yourself?
What have you stolen?
Was it difficult to choose?
Was it difficult to carry?
Was it difficult to hide it from me when I came looking?
Did you take everything from me
that you meant to?
Was it worth the effort?
Categories:
proprioception, abuse,
Form: Free verse