why i do not write

1.
having measured anger
and grief on the kitchen
scale, the recipe will
fail. i tell myself
i am being kind
and it is a partial
truth. a kind of art.
less and less.

in the mirror i avoid
and puncture, alternating
views. hair begins
again, dark and different,
dark and the same.
skin confuses with sun.

the sun and the mirror:
dangerous combinations.
the moon and mars:
a better fit. at least
for pen, for page.
needles sink.

2.
i am writing a biography
of absence. i am revising,
it is an autobiography,
a disappearing gender.

the body, when erased,
inhabits greater space.
we are getting closer
to another kind
of approximation.

3.
i do not write in letters
or emails, nor threaten
with inaccuracy, solidity.
filled with voices i might
announce:

playing a victim
how desperate
how unattractive
your performance

the arrows and thorns of words
the gems and alarms
their disequilibrium

writing marked by motions and motives
of hands which do not state
"i cannot let go" "i cannot hold on"

4.
sadly, you have only two currents

(dominate and blame)

i see, it's boring,
you're controlling, i get it

5.
reach and withdraw.
submission, suspicion.
words muddled by duplicity.
i am trying to admit
something not binary:

failure is inevitable
dishonesty fills the lungs

find some glue already

6.
you have left
you have been left
you are left

alone. you can go
anywhere without permission
or rather, consent.

have i held you