From A Three-Part-Poem

I.

I can go a whole day without thinking of you,

now.

Once done, everything collapses into dust-pain, into grey shadow.

This is withdrawal from the drug of being wanted.

Nothing inside of me is attached,

and all of it falls out of the way of the slow boil, the dust rising,

the sun death in my lungs shutting off every light and leaving me without a

thought.