With neither strength nor endurance,
I fall short of the ideal dance practice.
With distance, evolution, and past habits caressing
and strangling me like bloodthirsty ghosts,
I peek in to forums, anxieties on display like a museum exhibit,
and I peruse among them, not quite in the group, not quite out,
unable to grapple with my own fear of the future.
My friend’s art show is today, and I am late. I wanted to write a poem today.