But I try to remind myself,
none of this is real, no, none of it is real—
like I am the cliff face
losing itself
to the battering sea.
Wave after wave—
how, pray tell, am I to hold my shape?
Insanity happens slowly,
then all at once: like two tectonic plates
done holding it together, done sparing the world
their earthquake.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 