Self Portrait as Syllogism

Why should you always demand 
that things make complete sense?
There are times your own life 
makes you a fiction. 

Are you a fisherman's daughter, 
a taxman's brother, the long-
lost soldier who's left again 
for another war? 

Though cicada shells
fall on the porch steps,
their chorus keeps 
ghosting in the trees.

You touch the scars
left by old wire fencing 
on your arm, then 
the folds under your eyes.

An epidemic 
of sleeplessness 
is still at large 
in the world.

If floorboards creak 
perhaps it's only because 
the house has grown quiet 
in order to hear you.

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