don’t anybody try to tell
me what a noble
thing I’m doing all day
the mindless whine —
please please please
where can I go where can I go
hands grabbing, patting, folding
I dream of monkeys
I’m going, gone inside nothing
left in me but anger
and ashes
nothing left of flow
of fire
don’t tell me it’s not
her, it’s the disease
it’s her still
demanding
my very soul.