You’re Just Getting in as They’re Going Out

I am angry, unseen
treatment resistant and so careful with the play I demonstrate
to conjure pity and causation in public
though not the authenticity of the experience—it is
an abstraction away from that that I talk about in such an articulate way, that
which then impresses too—without being dangerous—exactly as you feel
and act without notice unless a treatment resistant scene
points it out, the unaware dance you do
to get you in trouble that has nothing to do with you
as if we are toddlers: I am losing friends.
The shiver up my back seems to come from the East though: still
my right side. It isn’t anything I talk about
confidently with a holistic vocabulary because we know what people
think they are like with their ontologies from years ago, way back
when a cave girl flicked a bear and called it, say, Divinity. That broke
the camel’s back and can you hear my walking around with similar chips now, wondering
somehow, where the shivers come from
to take away our public and girls: I know how it works
but I resist. Though I am completely invisible with how I work around it
like that toddler looking over his shoulder from the floor—who saw the fall?—his knee
not scrapped but nearly: he screams. How do we help him
too as he refers me forward in complete disarray, as there is no treatment for this
into the grizzly experience of saying little else, of which
we are now not impressed, and yet angrier than ever.