houdini’s ex

lately, work doesn’t work at all.
i can’t squint enough to focus any where
at once. kneel, stretch, wiggle…no physical inclination works

because it seems that i am wound too tightly

if you could see me now, you would know.
go ahead and try to imagine it.

the more i thrash, the more i am enmeshed
oh, but for the solace of some consuming obsession
or other. my own breathless tangles. real and imagined….

ok, absurd desires. i say fondly; farewell.
i give the real solid fantasy
a good bye kiss and
it takes it’s stuff and slams the door on the way out

desire deserts it’s creator.
there’s not much left
to say

i know that it’s true that he sometimes doesn’t want to get out. just like me. i don’t care enough anyway.
it’s tough work. it’s contorting and contriving.
unless obsession is working with me….
unless i want
( anything really…breath, love, safety, hope…)
so much that i cannot separate myself from the want
or breath, or tangle

well, then this is maybe just not for you
he says,
truthfully

and i know that before i said goodbye to that anything which held my bones together and kept me floating and absorbed my constant gaze,
i could have excelled, too, in the need to be free

and i know that, i can absolve
but, i cannot crave
i can twist, but i cannot unwind

that my brawling
has become sad embraces
rendering my hearty obsessions
bland and orphaned

that i will continue to thrash
and attempt to untangle
even without desire’s help