i told, i told, i told (x300, all the way from the library to my hall) 

myself that this year i would not panic.

that whatever i did,

i would not panic.

i would not let my fear freeze up and crystalize

in my bones while i'm walking home.

 

well, dear god, i'm sorry to report that i lied,

and i know lately all my poems have been about

things i've been finding that would have served me better off

buried in the country county graveyards back home,

because 20 miles isn't far--

away enough from me that they won't stir up in the night to pull me down,

but close enough that if i ever need to, i can run back

at midnight and dig them all up,

call all my problems to a candle-lit seance so we can

puzzle it all out.

 

i told myself that the first taste of winter would temper me,

that i'd train myself through the cold, 

wouldn't be afraid of anything this year.

but, dear god, i'm so upset to say that 

i don't think i kept this promise.

i don't, i don't, i don't (repeat ad infinitum, until the tongue falls off

and fertilizes the ground)

think i could have done much more.