notes

The grey day comes on to me
Shifting normal feelings into sand
The everyday rhythm I’ve come to rely on
Snakes through my fingers
Days of the week (and other inventions)
scramble until I feel an alien in myself
As if something were swapped —
Eyes, taste buds, the bridge
my nose to the world — I’m a mile away
from the cadence I trust, knuckles white and
stretching against the boundaries of everything
I designed
A long time ago.
I have notes.