On our way to dust

It’s dark and getting darker. 

I’m tumbling through one self-soothing 

measure after another. 

The body requires more than I have 

energy for – the maintenance is ridiculous 

with the hair and teeth and cooking

and running through old events like

they just happened and imagining 

things that will never be. 

.

The days see numbers and cheese,

sun and soap, withering and humming. 

I don’t quite know the song,

but I think it’s three different tunes 

I seem to interchange, like fall leaves 

when they’re all brown and crackly – 

it doesn’t matter 

if they were oak or elm or maple;

they’re on their way to dust.