98%
But each day brings
new aches—my neck
back feet legs all
the places bones rub
together and tendons twine;
I am ringing with fear
and I feel a horrid case
of November coming on—
These things ping against
me and I answer, these
impulses. I am happy,
I think. I am happy
without you. I am
so glad you are gone—
97% sane and pushing 98
the last two percent
is for taking chances and
falling in love. I grin,
feel sunshine pour into
my eyes. Pushing 98 percent.
and down deep the hurts
are healing, the aches
of each day the form
of a blow long delayed.
I never needed what you gave me;
I did an excellent job of hurt
on my own.
98% sane, now.
98% glad you're gone.