It is so easy to lose track of a limb
when you live outside your body, outside your
“self.” Greyer than a cinderblock down
in your gut. Every morning on the bus I pass
“Diamonds Gentlemen’s Club” but it’s out of business
and I wonder where the owner pawned his diamonds.
It’s hard not to kill to stay alive. I cannot
fade like a slowly breaking calculator. I have to
keep eating instead. It’s like trying to comprehend
the size of a light year. We’re just not built
that way. When I was a kid they told me I was so smart—
but I’m really not. This is my confession.