Phantom Habit

Never smoked a fag

but I wake up every morning

reaching for one

artificial motivation

the internal well dry

every moment a D.I.Y.

I see my brother on the curb

one between his fingers

shy guilt for the habit

Freud’s shade mocks

generations gnaw nerves

but I get up anyway

Orlando Or Lando

Three spirits visit me in the night.

I tell them, let me wake as a woman.

I have been chaste, I have been pure, I have

followed all the rules or paid for the few I have

broken, I don’t want this to be my life’s longing.

If not, then just leave it be and never whisper

of the life I could have or the freedom of mind

and allow me to smooth over everyone

with careful style of cloth and wit.

Make me content with what is

or make what should be.

Meanwhile, I will be a “dolphin

dying in Ionian seas.”