Good feeling, perfect day;
just words: words to which I aspire,
or words I can aspire to, words
that would describe the feeling for the day
or the day itself so whichever works
for you and for me;
please remember that one.
I’m not a fussy man. Or else,
I am not fussy. “Fussy” is not
a word I would use to describe
myself.

I have simple tastes.
I am easy on the language
if not upon the eyes; at least,
not anymore, for
the weight loss
is showing in my neck and arms.
The weight loss
is alarming in my belly.
I can wrap my fingers around
either wrist now and do it
comfortably. I have lost
one hundred pounds —
where did they go? I am
oblivious to these things.
I would look through the house
for them but I am terrified
of finding them and having them
slide up my legs and rejoin
my parts.

But this is a good feeling, this
is a perfect day; I repeat it
over and over again. At least
it will be perfect and I will feel good
even after I go outside to the car
and go out into this wicked world;
I swear to you I will maintain this.
At least until I remember who I am
and part ways with it. Tomorrow,
perhaps. Keep thinking about
the next day, and the next.
One of them is bound to come true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T