routine

I’ve thieved one night’s molten rest and spread it like butter

across the past 5 and my pants pinched my tummy when i bought

them but slide today down my hips

as I walk because my belt doesn’t fit either, anymore and I miss loving

my favorite snacks and eating

anything other than junk food text messages and I miss concern

over my red eyes in the morning or my fallen hairs

making a graveyard of the kitchen, and I miss craving

a good sleep and a well-rested wake, I miss seeing

the sunrise or more than 6 months without my clothes

forgetting how to fit and I miss missing

my friends and my yarn and my art and my bed,

I miss missing

I hate that these days, my best words evaporate

my more seductive sentences solidifying only as I walk, urgent and profound

but melted by the time I reach my destination, although I never really reach

my destination because there isn’t one;

I’m just walking to think and it feels like these days that’s all I do is

walk and think and walk and think and walk and nothing changes and nothing stays the same and there’s always a new grief and I’m not allowed to use

the elevator or eat breakfast or put cream in my coffee, all I have time to do is walk and follow my foolish rules and eat my words and panic over the hours passing like my back, cracked, and

think

and walk and think and walk and I wonder

if I ever lived rule-less, if I even could; I’ve never tried

I’m nearing my non-destination, my body lacks resolution.

though I don’t fret, I’ll

loiter for a bit

forget myself for a minute, maybe two

until the space in between comes to me sated, almost glutted, calls me to rise and so

I’ll rise, walk again and think

up a new empire and fill it with brand new ways to think about the same old things;

I imagine that’s what they call routine.