i’m sure i must have once been the proud possessor
of days that passed without insult or injury
(let’s focus on the latter, please)
but they seem to have dissipated, traces lingering
like dust in the patches of early window light
and lately,
i can’t seem to keep from getting hurt.

i have no apartment stairs to tumble down
no rabbit holes to blacken me out
(the way falling in love once did),
yet my sinews stretch and fibers burn
as though a wildfire rages beneath my skin
as i run north along the Hudson,
aching in the wash of sunset
to put miles between my tired feet and you

and all those thisclose nights, sprawled across your floor
when you said “maybe you should slow down,
you could hurt yourself”
even then, i never thought your words held weight
& swore i’d always be the one to run away

maybe not for good
but tonight,  for the better.

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