I walk into the room, but then

I somehow disappear –

I look down at my feet to check

and see that they’re not there –

I try to talk to you, but words

evaporate in air –

it isn’t only here, you know,

it happens everywhere.


I take you to a restaurant

then promptly melt away –

I take your hand – my hand dissolves

and won’t come back all day

which doesn’t help me get to grips

with social interplay –

it isn’t just with you, you know,

I’ve always been this way.


Other people seem so sure

exactly who they are

they fit their lives as though that were

nothing particular

and they remain themselves without

a detailed aide memoire –

but I’m fading away, so it’s time to say

a rapid au revoir –


I’d hoped that you’d know how to make

me more mo



First published in HQ Poetry Magazine, Number 49