i may be getting better at this being alone thing

i think i’m getting better at this being alone thing

i’ve felt like a bad tooth being ripped from its bed
of comfortable rot cracking scab
and sloppy clot

or a five handed man
twisting within a skin of howling wind
the only real stillness and peace an ocean of sleep wrapped around and held fast
when even your dreaming is a falling toward day
as you tear out trees and fly scraping sky curling up
under your nails
separating roots 
and clearing out corners
of children’s games and dusted-thick picture frames and
you orchestrate your hunger pains with handfuls
of empty
air
hair ties
and
pocket change…

but is this falling or 
is it rising
is it coming up for air?
is there light if keep swimming?
is there a waking in this dreaming because the pain is still alive
and the love is still there
but even so

i may just be getting better at this being alone thing