I no longer feel the desperation I once did,

not for your palm in mine or palm in cheek

or palm anywhere. I’d like to think we dipped

a little deeper than that. Lately, I’ve taken to

looking at myself a little longer in the mirror

and I wonder, I mean, as I’m pressing kohl

against my inner eye line, I wonder if my

glasses have been the problem the whole

time. I wonder how many times I’ve had

to lean in close to something to see it and

I do in fact wonder if that’s a metaphor for

my whole existence. Being near and intelligent,

being far and being quiet, being too close

and becoming negligent. There’s a grace

in moderation, but I still find myself drawn

towards excesses. It’s hard to remain real

and honest, and that may in fact be why

substances help for as long they do. They

offer a way to look at the world without

seeing it, and that’s numbness, but it’s

also grace in a weird and sort of fucked up

way.