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dear god

my toenails are
growing too fast
too brittle
aged

not yellowed yet

I can't think of disfigurement
of any kind--

I vomited in doctors
office thinking of
throat cancer, eyes
tearing stomach raging,

it was only
tonsillitis,

cleared up with
steroids rest gatorade--

 think of growing old
skin wrinkled
eyes grayed with cataracts,
back bent
body leaning on cane
deep black and blue bruises
true bruises that reach to
bone, dying bones
old bones,

mind roams

pain pushed into
every life seeping corner,

I must remain
now
and never go

remind myself not
to lose my body
my image of it,

weeks go by and
I am different,
hair growing
knees sore,
mind slower,

what is next,
I don't know,

maybe I've already begun
to misplace it,

fuck,

I can't even think of
the word,

I scroll up but
the poems finished--