I am a screen to myself—
A turn away from a wreck—
A blind vision of who I am.
I make lists and admonitions,
Pile them about the house,
Then scurry one to the other.
Each sounding comes back to me
Hollow, vacuous, vaguely defined
As boundaries too close to skin.
I tear off my clothes.
My flesh burns and burns,
Until bones swirl into ash.
Silence surrounds what remains
Hiding nothing from nothing.
(March 30, 2017)
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