sometimes deliberate, a performance
which requires your hand
reaching into your closet and pulling out
the same skirt as before, so someone else can take it off this time
as the clouds roll in, as you cry quietly while getting
your last hurrah.
other times they drop into your lap -
the computer body
hot against your bare legs.
scrolling through the evidence,
the heat spreads to the inside of your mouth
and your cheeks
tingle with knowing.
it’s true. and you run
to the darkest corner you can find
like an animal
getting ready to hibernate.
you think of dogs in cars and trees
songs about scars all the best pop metaphors,
with the windows down; it’s summer and you
are
drumming your feelings into the pavement
running as much as you can as fast as you can
as far as you can. stopping just so you can
start again.
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