Thursday, July 28, 2011

188. A Nagging Sensation

All day long I busy myself
Pushing anxiety down
down
down
into a well
inside myself
like a well made
in a heap
of flour
into which milk
is poured
and stirred
until biscuit dough appears.

I try my best not to think
a million thoughts
at once
racing
against one another
en masse;
the peloton,
vying
for my attention.

I am mostly successful.

But at night when I am
alone
my dog quietly pressing
himself into my side,
my insides
gnaw at themselves
as my
fingertips
fall prey to the
absentminded wanderings
of my teeth.
I never seem to have
enough band-aids,
yet somehow,
I always have more fingers.

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