The Other Self

Your thoughts race from sunrise

till sundown like F1 circuitry,
or a television gone static.

Every notion of solitude in
a room makes you quiver
like a butterfly in your own body.

Your eyes are danger beacons
looking for someone to warn
of the perils of living, little knowing
it’s your life that you are
intent
on fixing.

I withhold from you my number
in fear of your incessant contact.
Too much of a moment gets you
sizzling; too little, and the winter
strikes the cold whites of your eyes.

I am aware of you dogging
my shadow sunup till sundown.
Perhaps you

are the shadow, my

own thoughts intoxicated
with dark solitude

yet I wish you
away from me,
and I wish you
away
from me.