Things About Me

I think

I have committed

a terrible crime,

and buried a body

somewhere;

it is in my dreams,

it exists like smoke

in my memory,

and comes, unbidden

startling me, I

sit bolt upright, awake,

that kind of

memory,

in the middle

of the night;

but I have no idea

if I’m remembering

something, or just

imagining it,

or picking up vibrations?

did I see it?

or do it?

is it happening

somewhere else, just now?

It’s not like me,

after all,

killing and hiding

and worrying;

I am a fun-loving

person, bon-vivant,

low anxiety

as a rule,

working through stuff,

making lists;

hoisting myself forward

on winches

of enthusiasm

and hope;

but I think, maybe

there are things

about me that

I don’t know.