A Response

The pain is in that I feel the connection, then I do not feel it

I feel a game, a falseness…

Then I strive to feel it again and cannot tell whether I am making a story that I feel it or really experience it

Then it drops out again (and again, and again)

-leaving me in the gutted house-

-hanging from at trapeze with one arm-

-over the void where a floor and foundation should be but were ripped from my house by someone else’s fear.

Construction undone, nowhere to put my feet and no way to find them while hanging

Perhaps I can swing my knees up to the bar

Swaying over the void to face it, upside down, blood rushing to my head

I could laugh/cry/despair/scream to it a lullaby of attachments I can never feel with certainty if at all.

Perhaps this is my only sensible orientation for survival. Perhaps.