I am trying to learn over again lessons in love,
to teach myself how to be alone, without being
lost but I have never known how to be beautiful--
and I do not live anywhere but the room where
I sleep is so crammed with empty boxes and
all those empty corners I could build a nest in.
If I had the flesh for it and the energy for it
I could grow wings to pull myself up and then
fight a war with gravity and someday I'd win.
I could grow up if it weren't for a gap in the bed
that I am too small for and the gaps in memory
I am too big for, and for the emptiness of space.
Alone is a state of mind, in and out and between
and it's a place, a strange place I am and I'm not
and I've been here before but back then I didn't
notice the cold.
