Self-Care

I begged the year for intimacy. Dashed down into my sheets
with nothing but the fan on. I begged my knees for oil, to bend
easy guillotine around some neck, maybe cut off the lamp in my belly, 
knock out the dust from my toes, sweep out the tricks webbing up my corneas.
I said give me back my wata and the sleep number started seizing
—put a hump in the hour—but no more. When I finally gave up, I went 
to the mirror for a look-see and found that bitch sucking face
with last winter when I’d come close to the Mojave’s affection
only to float on too quick and too far West. Seeing me she said something 
I can do for you? Shaking my head I let her go on, got me some 
coffee and went back to work feeding myself pretty lyrics and lead.