A PROGRESSIVE DISEASE
I feel my body getting away from me,
becoming erratic and strange, slowed by
even the stillest air. I feel it twist
into itself, gnarl and tighten. My brain’s
signals go astray or garble, sparking
with misfires. The months speeding by consist
of days so slow I no longer believe
in time. One of my doctors talks about
the endgame, another the quality
of the journey there. But sometimes, like today,
I feel my body coming back to me,
trusty scout, bearing word of what lies ahead.
