i haven't been myself
for quite some time -
different versions,
lingering as long
as appropriate
(or long overstaying
their welcome),
shuffling from one
skin to the next,
one pain
to the next -

we redress,
nurse the wounds
(we've gotten
good at this),
a facsimile
of a person
until i find the real one  

but being a person
at all
these days
is like repeating the same
song, the same wave,
the same splotch of starry sky
through the kaleidoscope
of every open eye
bleeding together
into hazy nothingness
and everythingness

it's been silent ever since
and i'm not sure
i'd recognize self
anymore than she'd
recognize me
one and the same

but only by name.